


Lightning and War

by Lomonaaeren



Series: Lightning [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Dimension Travel, Established Relationship, M/M, Politics, Violence, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2019-08-05 17:13:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 50,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16371752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lomonaaeren/pseuds/Lomonaaeren
Summary: Harry and Tom are pursuing Harry’s cousin Jonquil Potter into Tom’s dangerous, paranoia-ridden world. In addition to finding Jonquil, they need to deal with Dumbledore, Tom’s associates, and dangerous fluctuations in Harry’s magic. Sequel toJonquils and Lightning.





	1. Through the Portal

**Author's Note:**

> This story involves a lot of background that won’t make much sense without having read the prequel. At the moment, I don’t know how long this story will be or if it will be the last in the series.

****“I still can’t believe that Calliope would betray you that way.”

Tom made sure that he was facing the other way as he got himself a second cup of tea. Dorea wouldn’t take well to the way his eyes rolled. But seriously, it was the third time she had said that, and she knew as well as anyone how much Calliope had hated Harry for the tremendous sin of being alive when her stillborn son, with the same name, wasn’t. Why did she have to keep remarking on it?

“Maybe I should have seen it coming.”

Tom turned back around fast enough to almost spill his tea. This was the first time Harry had said anything like _that_. Mostly he sympathized with Dorea and nodded as though he wanted to soothe her.

“What do you mean, Harry?”

“Calliope didn’t let up on her bitterness even after I’d been here six months.” Harry leaned back in his chair, ankles crossed in front of him, and stared up at the ceiling. His mouth twitched now and then, as though he wanted to spit something out. Tom crossed the kitchen to be near him, resting his hand on his shoulder. Harry’s face softened into a smile.

“And?”

Tom didn’t glare at Dorea, because he also wanted to hear this, but he held still for a second before he nodded to Harry, telling him that he was all right. He sat down in the chair with his teacup again.

“That should have told me that the fantasy of the perfect family I had was only a fantasy.” Harry’s hands tightened around his own teacup. “I just—I hoped there were people here who would sympathize with me. My fantasies didn’t include a cousin who hated me. I got enough of that back in my first world.”

Tom dreamed for a moment of going through the portal to Harry’s dimension and wreaking revenge on his Muggle relatives. It wouldn’t happen, because Harry didn’t want it to, but if he ever changed his mind, he only had to tell Tom.

“Most of the family loves you, Harry. You know that.”

“But I was blind about it. I thought this dimension was a paradise. It wasn’t.” Harry swallowed most of his tea at a gulp and sat up. He looked almost recovered from the magical exhaustion that had consumed him yesterday, when he stabilized the portal to Tom’s world. “I need to make sure that I’m seeing what’s really there when we go after Jonquil.”

Dorea swallowed, but Tom knew there was nothing in her mouth. “You don’t have to. I should go myself. Or Celandine and Arthur should, as Jonquil’s parents.”

Harry shook his head. “I don’t blame myself for it as much as I did, but Jonquil is gone partially because of me. I don’t forsake my duties.”

“I wish you wouldn’t think of them as _duties_ ,” Tom muttered to him.

“Yeah, I know, because you’d like me to give up on them and come back to fight your war with you.”

“You wouldn’t have to fight. Just come back with me.”

“Are you coming back to _us_ , Harry?”

Tom let Dorea have a little taste of his glare, and took pleasure in the way she recoiled. Harry rubbed his thumb gently along the side of Tom’s hand and answered only, “I haven’t decided. Calliope is family to you in a way that I’ll never be. And assuming that Jonquil comes back with us, she might not be best pleased to have us here, either.”

“I’ll always love you, grand-nephew. I’ll always want you here. And you haven’t even met Rigel and Rose properly yet.”

Tom wondered if Dorea noted the way that Harry’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I know, Great-Aunt. I’ll keep it in mind.” He drank the rest of his tea and glanced over at Tom. “Are you ready?”

“I know very well that _you’re_ not packed, Harry.”

Harry blinked. “Yes, I am. I didn’t bring that many clothes to this dimension, and only a few keepsakes. I have them in a trunk in my pocket already.”

Tom’s chest tightened. _He_ had more possessions than could fit into a trunk, and he’d grown up the poor half-blood son of Merope Gaunt. He made a silent vow that someday, Harry would have all the possessions he could ever need or want, and Tom was going to give them to him.

His gaze briefly crossed Dorea’s. She had the same look on her face. Tom held back the scowl that no one would have understood. _He_ wanted to be the one to shower Harry with gifts and affection enough that he forgot all about his disappointing life before Tom, and the people who should have loved him, and hadn’t.

Well, Harry would spend at least a few weeks with him in Tom’s world, surely. Tom had enough time to convince him.

“Tell the others that I went to find Jonquil,” Harry was saying to Dorea quietly. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t tell them more than that, right now. God knows that the last thing we want is other Potters coming through the portal.”

“Yes. What about Calliope, though?”

“I put a charm on her so she can’t speak of anything that happened last night,” Tom interrupted.

Harry turned to him, eyes narrowed. “I didn’t ask you to do that, and frankly I wish you hadn’t.”

“You can wish it all you like,” Tom told him. “It doesn’t mean that I want her to tell anyone about portals, rituals that lessened your magic, or Dumbledore. I’ve also put a charm on that cocoon you wrapped him in so it can’t be moved.”

Harry nodded and said nothing while they spoke their farewells to Dorea and Harry hugged her. Only when they were outside the house and moving towards the portal did Harry ask out of the side of his mouth, “ _Really_?”

“She betrayed you once already, and at the worst time. You could have been killed by her interruption of the ritual. I could have been killed in that duel if you hadn’t joined in. I’m not going to leave her as a dagger to stab at our backs merely because that is what Dorea and the rest of your family would prefer.”

Harry exhaled a cold cloud of breath that plumed up in front of them. “I don’t think the rest of them would prefer it. And I know that Dorea thinks she should be punished.”

“You don’t?”

“You’re right. She could have resulted in you being killed or seriously injured in that duel. I’m a little angry about that.”

Tom smiled. He knew now what it meant when Harry’s voice got low and his eyes flashed. “And yourself? Do you have a care for how she interrupted the ritual and how your sacrifice of your magic might have been for _nothing_?”

Harry’s eyes darted to him, then away. “Yes, I’m angry about that. But it’s never going to approach the same intensity that my being angry about her endangering someone else is. Don’t ask for miracles, Tom. I _can’t_ be that angry about someone going after me. All right?”

Tom thought about saying something, and ended up shrugging. “Yes, very well. I’m going to consider it part of the price of loving you.”

That got him a far more lovely smile, and then they fell into the easy strides they would need to get beyond the wards that surrounded Godric’s Hollow and discouraged Apparition.

*

Harry studied the portal closely as they approached, ready to turn around and knock Tom away at the least sign of instability. But as far as he could tell, it was steady, a shimmering, round golden gate in the air. Tom had stretched an illusion over it that kept anyone else from noticing it or approaching it, similar to the one that guarded the cage of dreams Dumbledore was wrapped in.

Harry glanced sideways at Tom as they stood in front of it. “You made the illusion transparent to me, but no one else?”

“Of course I did. It was easy.”

Harry smiled. Tom was forever going on and on about how wonderful and powerful Harry’s magic was, but he was pretty damn special himself. To casually build an exception for a single person into a powerful illusion was…

“Why are you looking at me that way?”

“Because you’re wonderful,” Harry said, and leaned in to kiss him. Tom stopped and seemed as if he would be willing to raise an illusion over both of them so they could have sex right there on the grass. Harry pulled back and laughed a little. “Come on. We can have sex on the other side of the gate.”

“In my own bed.”

Harry nodded. “You’re going home. You have to be excited, right?”

Tom made a face. “It’s not exactly the way I envisioned returning when the oracle first told me that I would find the Potter I needed on the other side of the gate. But I wouldn’t give you up now.” His hand dropped down to the side and his fingers closed around Harry’s, squeezing hard enough to belie his casual words.

Harry squeezed back, and stepped through the portal at the same moment as Tom did, his body turned a little sideways. He couldn’t even say later whether that had been instinct or simply so that they could both fit through the gate at the same time and the narrowest point, even though Tom would question him incessantly about it later.

They were on the other side in seconds, on a wide stone floor that led up to walls with broken windows in them and a ceiling overhead that Harry realized, a moment later, was a starry sky. And in front of what looked like the doorway was a pair of dark robed figures who flung Stunners at them.

Harry whirled and shoved Tom to the ground, then dropped himself, rolling out of the way and then close enough to kick one of the dark figures in the groin in one fluid moment. The man gasped and dropped his wand. Harry kicked it into a corner and drew his own. A Cutting Curse sliced open the man’s arm and disabled him neatly.

The other robed figure was still turning towards him. He had a deep hood, but Harry could see the underline of his jaw, and his mouth open in astonishment.

Harry Stunned him in response, and watched as he fell. He glanced at the man whose arm was bleeding, and cocked his head. “Is he one of yours, Tom? Sorry, if so, didn’t mean to hurt him that badly.” But he’d reacted, and although his magic was lesser than he had been—enough that Harry didn’t want to try one of the more powerful spells he might once have cast without thought—his instincts and his mastery of simple spells was more than enough.

“Not mine,” Tom said, although his voice was shaking a little. Harry turned to him in concern and found the cause. Tom’s eyes were fixed on him and dilated in desire. “I see that sacrificing part of your magic to hold the portal didn’t slow you down in the slightest.”

Harry flushed even though that was ridiculous, with no one else around to see, and shook his head. “Well, I had some training in battle even before that.” He stooped down and cast a healing spell on the first man’s arm wound. He wondered if these were Unspeakables. He had no idea if the grey hooded cloaks were a common uniform from world to world, though.

Tom had already yanked back the hood on the second man Harry had felled. His mouth worked into a snarl. “These are Dumbledore’s men.”

“Think they’ve been waiting here since he went through?”

“It wouldn’t surprise me.” Tom turned the man a little to the side, and Harry blinked as he saw a mark on the left cheek, almost concealed by stubble. “This shows they belong to the Order of the Phoenix.”

“He brands them on the _face_?”

“I don’t know that it’s a brand, but it is a magical mark. And yes, of course the face, Harry. Dumbledore says that it would be unethical to hide it and make someone guess whether they’re facing a member of the Order or not.”

 _Unethical._ Harry stared at the small red rising phoenix on their enemy’s face and shook his head. He had to be careful not to let his fondness for the Dumbledore from his own world mislead him. It seemed as though this man was entirely, rigidly different.

“I wonder…” Tom looked around. “I left some of mine to watch the gate, but they would have cleared out once they saw Dumbledore’s Order start arriving. They might have left a certain surprise behind, though.” He drew his wand and hissed softly in Parseltongue. “ _Find the bells_.”

A brilliant blue-silver serpent that Harry thought for a moment was Tom’s Patronus manifested from the end of his wand, but it turned green and yellow as it wound through the air, and vanished through the broken door. A second later, the sound of faint bells came to them.

“They did leave the spell as a signal.” Tom smiled and pocketed his wand. “They’ll be along in a minute, now that they know I’ve rung them.”

“Should I hang back and let you introduce me of your own accord? Or hide myself?”

Tom swiveled around to look at him. “Why would you do that?”

“Your people might be a little paranoid, especially if Dumbledore’s men chased them away.” Harry shook off the momentary strangeness of using the label he had once proudly claimed for himself to apply to someone else, and plowed on. “They might attack first if they see me.”

“They can do that, and then you can show them how much stronger you are.”

“Not anymore.”

“Strength is measured by more than mere magical prowess.”

Harry felt his eyebrows rising, but before he could call Tom out on that lie that wasn’t what _Tom_ believed, he heard the cracks of Apparition coming in. He moved in front of Tom, and felt Tom rest a hand on his shoulder for a second.

“If it’s my people, then they should see me,” Tom murmured into his ear. “And if it’s not, then we should fight _together_ , not with you throwing me out of the way all the time.”

Harry felt himself flush. “Sorry,” he muttered as he stepped restlessly back. “It’s the protective instinct. Hard to keep it under control.”

“I forgive you.”

Harry rolled his eyes, and then turned and watched the broken door as the first of what looked like three or four wizards walked cautiously through it. The lead one wore a cloak with a hood, too, and Harry tensed automatically, but then the newcomer threw his hood back and rushed forwards. It was Abraxas Malfoy, who Harry had seen in a few of Tom’s memories when he cast the Angelfire Curse.

“Gaunt,” breathed Malfoy. “ _Here_ you are. When Dumbledore showed up and performed the blood sacrifice to go through the portal, we weren’t sure if we would ever see you again.” He blinked and stared at Harry. “Did you—did you find the one you went to seek, my lord?”

“I did,” Tom said, crisply. “His name is Harry Potter.” He glanced sideways at Harry, obviously waiting for him to go beyond that.

Harry dipped his head a little. “You must be Abraxas Malfoy,” he said. “Tom showed me that you matter to him when he shared some of his memories with me.”

He’d spoken in a way that he hoped was finely calculated to attract Malfoy’s attention while not embarrassing or upsetting him. It seemed that he’d shocked him, instead. Malfoy’s jaw dropped open, and he turned and whispered, “My lord? _Memories_?”

“Yes. Harry knows what’s important about me, and what’s important to me. We actually came back to this world so that I could help him accomplish a quest, and he could help me accomplish mine.”

Harry frowned at him. _Tom, you know that’s not why we came here,_ he tried to say with his mind, but Tom wasn’t looking him in the eye and thus couldn’t be using Legilimency or hearing the thought. For the first time, Harry missed the Horcrux connection that used to tie him and his world’s Voldemort together.

“I—see.” Malfoy didn’t look as though he understood at all, but said, “I know there was someone who came through the portal a few days ago, but I don’t know who it was. Other than a few spying trips, Dumbledore’s men have kept us away.” He glanced at the unconscious Order of the Phoenix members on the ground. “I see that you disarmed them with no trouble, my lord.”

“That was Harry,” Tom said carelessly, and began to stride towards the broken door. “Do come on, Abraxas. I’m eager to get back and hear what Philip has to say.”

Harry cringed a little under the wondering glance Abraxas directed at him. Because there wasn’t just wonder in it, but wariness, and maybe jealousy, too.

_Wonderful. Just great. The last thing I need is to become some sort of phenomenon in Tom’s world as well._

_And I am not helping him with his bloody war!_


	2. Tom's Inner Circle

“Harry, these are Abraxas Malfoy, Phillip Lestrange, and Roland Avery.”

Harry stood calmly at Tom’s side, his eyes resting on the faces of Tom’s followers. He didn’t have his wand out, which Roland did, because nothing Tom had done had managed to cure the git of his paranoia. He didn’t have a hostile, burning sideways glance, the way Philip did. He didn’t have Abraxas’s completely blank expression.

And yet even a fool wouldn’t have mistaken Harry for anything but the most trusted and competent of them. Tom was glad that he hadn’t chosen fools to follow him.

“Pleasure to meet you,” Harry said quietly. He had his hands linked together behind his back now. He actually stepped away from Tom as if he was going to take one of the back ring of chairs against the wall, waiting for the others who would be summoned later. Tom shook his head and grabbed the nape of Harry’s neck.

Harry’s eyelashes fluttered before he could stop himself, apparently, since he glared at Tom a moment later. Tom smiled and drew Harry back to his side.

Yes, that was jealousy on Abraxas’s face. Not that he’d thought he had a romantic chance with Tom, but he had thought he was closest, the one Tom would choose if he had to prefer someone above his other followers. Tom wasn’t all that sorry to disappoint him.

“Gentlemen,” Tom said, collecting their attention at once. He didn’t raise his voice. He never did when talking to political allies or friends. It was only fitting that they should have to listen harder to him. “Harry has come with me through the portal to find his cousin. She was the one who passed through it a few days ago.”

“Do you know what happened to her?” Harry asked instantly.

Philip flicked an eyebrow at him. “No idea. We know someone came through because I was watching the portal at the time, but I don’t know what Dumbledore’s men did with her. I heard a discussion that didn’t seem hostile. Then they Apparated somewhere.”

Harry firmed his jaw. Tom adored that look, but he did wish it was for him, even a mistake that he’d made, rather than bloody Jonquil. “We’ll find her.”

“Yes, we will,” Tom said, drawing his followers’ attention back to himself. “Now. I would like you to consider the _most_ important news that happened during the weeks I was gone. I want you to tell it to me in chronological order when you’ve finished considering.”

He leaned back in his chair. Harry took the one next to him at a pointed look, but he still seemed as if he’d rather be back in the shadows, or out the door searching for Jonquil. Tom rested his hand on Harry’s arm. He felt the restless heat shimmering there, like a captured fire.

“We will find her,” Tom said, and Harry glanced at him and finally relaxed completely, shutting his eyes and tilting his head back.

Tom turned back to his followers and nearly laughed aloud. They were staring at him with open mouths. Tom let his own eyebrows creep up, and got instant shutting of mouths and focus that he liked.

“Dumbledore also went through the portal thanks to a blood sacrifice,” Tom said. “We somewhat inconvenienced him in Harry’s world, such as that he can’t come back here for a month.” He didn’t intend to tell them exactly how Dumbledore had been inconvenienced, since they then might despise Harry for not having that level of power anymore. “We may, however, have less or more than a month, given the flow of time on different sides of the door. We need to move fast.”

“Yes, my lord,” Abraxas said, inclining his head. “What do you intend to do to take advantage of Dumbledore’s absence?”

“Release our blackmail.”

Roland started, and turned away from aiming his wand at Harry for the first time. “My _lord_?”

“All of it,” Tom continued, enjoying getting to see Philip’s tonsils and the whites of Abraxas’s eyes that he hadn’t known existed. “We’ll approach the _Prophet_ first, but if we can’t find a reporter willing to take the case, then we’ll _Obliviate_ the one we asked, and release the information on scraps of paper that we’ll distribute to every wizarding community in Britain. Abraxas, I’ll need your family’s Granians for that.”

“But what do you intend to _do_?” Philip asked. “Please, my lord, we’ve spent years collecting that information! Help us understand?”

“I intend to destroy the public’s confidence in Dumbledore’s government,” Tom said. He kept a deliberately bland tone, the better to watch their faces strain to express their astonishment. “We have blackmail on almost everyone he’s put in a prominent position in the Ministry. With all of it spread out like this, we have a chance to shake that Ministry to the ground. Or at least the tower Dumbledore has built out of his popularity.”

“We don’t have near enough blackmail on Dumbledore himself, though, my lord. He might lose all his supporters and still go on. We don’t have anything that can counteract the effect the Grindelwald War had on the public.”

“I know someone who might,” Tom said, and turned to face Harry.

*

Harry looked up from his contemplation of the wall—this place was a dim, cold room in the back of Malfoy Manor, apparently because Abraxas’s father didn’t approve of him consorting with Tom—and met several stares before the last of Tom’s words caught up with his wandering attention.

“I _told_ you that I came here to retrieve Jonquil and not help you fight your war, Tom.”

Tom gave him a soft, charming smile. “But Harry, you’ve already started, by helping me fight back against Dumbledore’s men that were guarding the portal. And this isn’t even a violent action. All you have to do is tell me what you know of that fight you once mentioned in Dumbledore’s past.”

“It was different here. I already know that. I might get some of the details wrong.”

“That doesn’t matter so much in blackmail,” Lestrange said, his head tilted back a bit, as if he couldn’t believe that he was helping persuade someone who hadn’t proved his loyalty to Tom. “Sure, Dumbledore might counter the details once he returns, but he’s not here right now. And the louder his denials, the more convinced some people will be that there’s _something_ behind it.”

“There’s something behind it, all right,” Harry muttered, thinking how badly he’d wanted to dismiss the lies in Rita Skeeter’s book, and how some of them hadn’t been lies.

“Then you have to help us,” said Avery, his wand lowering so that it pointed more at the floor than Harry for the first time. He had big dark eyes that Harry might have found attractive if he hadn’t fallen in love with Tom first. And if the man hadn’t been constantly pointing a wand at him, of course. “We seriously have _nothing_ on Dumbledore, other than the fact that he doesn’t like Slytherins. And what he dislikes, the general public dislikes. It leaves us in a weaker position than we should be in.”

“This fight that happened when he was younger…who was he fighting?”

That was Malfoy, his expression tightly contained but his voice sounding a lot like Avery’s. Harry did his best not to groan or slap a hand over his eyes. He had even more than the tattered information about Dumbledore fighting his siblings.

He had Dumbledore’s romance with Grindelwald.

_Assuming it was the same in this universe. And I have no way of knowing that it was._

Harry hesitated for a long moment. He glanced at Tom, and found Tom’s eyes on him, soft and encouraging. There was no hint of gloating that he was getting his way. Harry would have refused to help him if there had been.

“I need to visit someone,” he said abruptly. “Someone who lived in the same village Dumbledore did when he was young. She ought to be young enough here, too, to tell me the truth. She was pretty senile when I knew her in my first dimension.”

“Her name? When will we see her?” Tom sounded casual, but the “we” in his voice told Harry everything he needed to know about exactly how far away he would be getting from Tom’s side.

Harry tried anyway, though. He thought he’d be able to control his temper no matter what Bathilda Bagshot said, but Tom might be a different matter. “What? Why would you need to know that? It’s just a little scouting mission.”

“One I won’t be sending you on alone.”

“Don’t you trust me, Tom? I’m hurt.”

Tom smiled for one moment, acknowledging that Harry was playing the game, not conceding for a moment that he had a _right_ to. “I think everyone here will be more comfortable if I come with you, Harry.”

Harry glanced around at the other members of Tom’s circle. Avery still looked as if he’d like to be pointing a wand at Harry. Lestrange had changed to a blank expression, apparently not knowing what to make of him. But Malfoy had a definite frown, and shook his head, as if involuntarily, when Harry caught his eye.

“No, I don’t think so,” Harry announced cheerfully. “So if someone could tell me the Apparition coordinates for Godric’s Hollow, I’ll be on my way.”

Malfoy opened his mouth, and Harry nodded at him. Malfoy’s dislike of him might be a little tiresome, but it was going to help Harry accomplish his goal, so he would do anything he could to encourage it.

Malfoy froze, then, exactly as if he had been hexed. It took Harry a moment to realize his eyes still blinked, and that he had frozen because of something he saw behind Harry.

Harry turned around to see Tom standing there with his wand softly swinging in his hand. He might have looked like a little boy, but there was a swallowing darkness in his eyes. Malfoy backed a step away with his hand raised and his head ducked.

Harry simply scowled, because he wasn’t going to allow Tom to control him _or_ his movements like this, just by getting angry. “Stop scaring your followers.”

“I will be going with you, Harry.”

Harry folded his arms. “You think you can get your way just by saying it? I hate to tell you, Tom, but I don’t work that way.”

Tom’s stare eased a little, the darkness receding, but he shook his head again. “You are foolish beyond permission, Harry. I am coming with you, and you have no right to refuse me and try to keep me here.”

Harry took a step forwards and lowered his voice. “There’s a chance that my source might not talk to me if she sees you with me. Are you _really_ willing to risk everything just because you want to come with me?”

“I am.”

Harry hadn’t expected that answer at all. He’d expected some convoluted explanation about how it was really all for the best that Tom should come. He blinked. “What?”

Tom caught his wrist and turned it over as if he was admiring the bump of Harry’s bones beneath his skin. “I want you safe. I want that more than I want blackmail information on Dumbledore. And if you won’t let me come with you, then I can’t be sure that you’ll be safe.”

“Tom—”

“Make your choice, Harry. How badly do you want that blackmail material? Because it’s with me, or not at all.”

“What if she _won’t talk to you_?”

“She has no reason to know you, either. The chance that she’ll talk to you is no greater or smaller if I come here or stay behind.”

Harry scowled. Tom smiled back. “You don’t like the taste of logic very much, do you?” he whispered. “But I can use it just as well as you can, Harry.”

Harry turned away with a quiet curse. “ _Fine_. Then you decide what you’re going to tell your followers,” he hissed, loudly enough for Malfoy, Avery, and Lestrange to hear.

“Gladly.” Tom turned back to face them. “I am going with Harry to collect the blackmail information on Dumbledore. I’ll make sure that it and we get back here safely. Abraxas, I want you to find a way to contact a good report without your father finding out. Roland, go collect the rest of the blackmail. Philip, you’re still able to cast that Duplication Charm?”

“Yes, my lord,” Lestrange said. He looked a little dazed, but he had already snapped out of it, and he wasn’t wasting time glaring at Harry the way Abraxas was. “I’ll get started on that the minute Roland gets back.”

Tom tilted his head slowly at Avery. Avery blinked a second, then shot out the door like his bum was on fire.

“I’ll need time to contact the reporter safely, my lord,” Malfoy said. His face was pale, although how much of that was natural pallor, Harry wasn’t sure. He glared at Harry one more time and then turned away.

“Do that,” Tom said, and escorted Harry out into the Malfoy gardens with a firm hand on his shoulder. Harry shook free the minute they were in the clear, cold air again.

“You’re a git, you know that?”

“You were the one who fell in love with me and chose to help me with my war after all,” Tom retorted, looking immensely pleased. “Now, do you think you know the village where Dumbledore grew up well enough in this dimension to Apparate there, or do we need to go somewhere nearby first?”

*

Tom looked around as they walked down the main street of Godric’s Hollow, which Harry had insisted on approaching in shorter Apparition jumps. It was pleasant enough, he supposed, at least if you _had_ to live somewhere that had Muggles mingled with wizards. The houses were mostly small, and Tom couldn’t see much evidence of old construction or wealth. The graveyard was the most notable feature, if only because someone had a huge mausoleum there.

The house that Harry led him to was a neat cottage with a broom leaning against the door. Tom examined it while Harry knocked, and determined that it wasn’t magical. He hoped the woman was enough of a witch to use household charms and only kept the broom for the sake of her Muggle neighbors.

The woman who opened the door was clear-eyed, at least, although her hair was long and white and hung down her back. She subjected both of them to an intense stare. “What do you want?” she snapped.

“Your name is Bathilda Bagshot, right?” Harry asked. Tom gave him an approving squeeze on the elbow. He loved how Harry adapted quickly to any situation, including matching direct and blunt with direct and blunt.

“If you’ve come for autographs on that novel, go away! I always meant to write a decent historical book, not a novel! And there’s no _romance_ in it, either!”

“We wouldn’t dream of questioning you about your book,” Harry said, moving a little in front of Tom as if he thought Tom needed to be protected from this woman’s ranting. Tom immediately stepped up next to him, of course. Harry didn’t look at him, but his back stiffened with irritation. “I came to find out if you knew Albus Dumbledore, actually.”

Bagshot opened her mouth, then closed it again. She ended up peering at Harry out of one eye. “You want the letters?”

Harry opened his own mouth and then paused, looking stunned. Tom was the one who had to take over this time. “If you think it would be _appropriate_ for you to give them to us,” he said, with a dubious look that made Bagshot immediately nod.

“I have no use for the bloody things. I told him to come and get them long ago. He just said that he would send someone when the time came, and they would know the right things to say.”

Tom folded his arms and did his best impression of Abraxas’s father at breakfast in the morning. “We do want to know if you know him.”

“Wait here.”

The door slammed, and Harry smiled a little at Tom. “Thanks. I didn’t know where to go with that. I froze.”

“We seem to have stumbled, accidentally, into a situation that Dumbledore set up,” Tom murmured. He did wonder why Dumbledore wouldn’t have destroyed these dangerous letters, if they _were_ dangerous. Perhaps he feared Bagshot’s comments if he asked her to do that more than the letters themselves.

_Which argues they aren’t very good blackmail._

When Bagshot came back, she thrust the letters at them and sniffed. “He said they were important to history. _I_ say, if they are, then they should be displayed in the Ministry so that everyone can see even our Minister suffered from folly in his youth, not cooped up in a dark room here, but did he listen when I said that?”

“I can see that he didn’t,” said Tom, and his heart glowed as his hands tightened around the letters. He waited out Bagshot’s rant, nodding at some of it, and then turned away as she shut the door and flipped the first letter close to the light of his wand.

_My dearest Gellert…_

Tom felt himself reeling back almost before it occurred to him that his body actually was moving. He found himself staring at Harry with wide eyes. “He—he was _friends_ with Grindelwald?”

Harry reached out and took his hand gently. “No. He was in love with him.”

Tom felt as if a million Christmases had all come, at once.


	3. Making

“Abraxas located a reporter who will listen to us and do as we say.”

“Um. Good.”

Tom watched Harry as he undressed. They were in the small house in Hogsmeade that Tom had made his own through a combination of earned money, gifted money, charm, and charms. Harry was pacing back and forth through the bedroom, his pacing stirring shadows up and sending them whirling through the moonlight. He hadn’t made any move to take even his shirt off.

Tom stood and came over to take Harry’s shoulders into his hands. Harry halted at once, but he still quivered under Tom’s hands like one of the horses that he had healed back in the Potters’ dimension.

“Harry. We’ll find her.”

“But Dumbledore’s men have her.”

“I know that.” Tom leaned forwards to trace his fingers around the curves of Harry’s muscles. “But they have no reason to treat her badly. We’ll find her. We’ll get her back. And I suspect that she doesn’t have much information to tell them.”

“You told me enough about the Order of the Phoenix in this world to make me think—Tom, what if they torture her? If they assume she must know _something_ since she came through the portal and try to make her tell them something?”

“The one good thing about the Order,” Tom said quietly, his attention more on the faint tremor in Harry’s shoulders than Jonquil, “is that they don’t use torture to get the truth because they don’t need to. Dumbledore legalized the use of Veritaserum on any suspect a decade ago. They would just dose her and figure out that she doesn’t know a thing. Now, they might not let her go. We might need to fight our way into an Order stronghold to get her out. But, I promise, Harry, I won’t let her be destroyed without a fight.”

Harry relaxed back against him, finally. “Why, though? You don’t like her.”

Tom smiled brightly into the mirror on the wall, although Harry had his head lowered and didn’t see it. Dislike was a mild word for what he felt for Jonquil, with her pathetic nature and her tears that she wept because she couldn’t have _him_. But the answer was the same. “For your sake, Harry. Because I want to make you happy.”

“You should think of people as ends in and of themselves, not just for me.”

Harry’s voice was heavy, though, and his attention all too obviously fixed on the circles Tom was making on his bare skin. Tom chuckled at him and drew him towards the bed.

“You must already know how unusual it is for me to fall in love at all. I’m not going to stretch my good nature to encompass someone that I have no reason to love.”

Harry turned around with a smile and lifted a hand to slide against Tom’s cheek. “I do know how different you are. How different you _could_ be. Thank you for loving me.”

Tom kissed him, because he didn’t know what to say to that. It was inconceivable to him that he might have come to Harry’s new world and _not_ loved him, no matter how little experience he had of it here.

His hands restless, he pulled Harry towards the bed. Harry came with him, eyes focused, glimmering, amused. Tom preferred him this way, by far, to brooding over Jonquil.

Harry fell back with a gasp when Tom arranged pillows behind him and began to explore him in the way that it seemed they’d never had time for when they were in Godric’s Hollow. Harry opened his legs and his eyes and his arms, yearning for him.

Tom kissed him again, and then reached down and stroked Harry’s cock, thinking. Yes, he wanted to do this this evening. He dipped his head and captured Harry in his mouth.

Harry cried out, urgent, passionate, a sound of throbbing life that Tom had no experience of in Hogwarts’s dim corridors or the even dimmer Gaunt shack, and then said, “B-both of us. G-get up the bed—”

Pleasure stole his voice again, but luckily, Tom had heard enough to know what he meant. He eagerly swung his leg around and got onto the bed, shuffling up, so that he was kneeling next to Harry. Then he stretched out and lifted his legs, and exposed his erection to Harry’s mouth even as he put his own back where it belonged.

The heat he was engulfed in, the heat he was sipping and licking and sucking, together chased away any sensation of possible regret or fear that Harry himself felt regret over the way he had come to this strange world. He closed his hand down and harshly tugged on Harry’s bollocks, trying to deal with the warmth, with all the doors it opened and all the things it—

And then Harry spilled into his mouth, and Tom was trying to deal simply with the sensation of having a great deal to swallow at once. He manipulated his lips as best he could around the mouthful of flesh and liquid, and swallowed, and swallowed, and then jerked his hips down and filled Harry’s mouth, too.

By the time he got his senses back and pulled himself back around and up so that his head was lying on the pillow instead of next to Harry’s hip, Harry had swallowed. There was a trace of white lingering at the corner of his mouth, which Tom found himself staring at for far longer than necessary. Harry reached up and traced his fingers through Tom’s hair, down his neck, his eyes wide with longing.

“I grew up thinking I’d never have someone to do this with,” Harry said. His voice was blurred, but his eyes saw clearly, from their shine. “Never someone who would love me and not see me as a burden. I’m so _glad_ that you’ve come along to prove me wrong, Tom.” He buried his face in Tom’s shoulder and gave a deep, contented sigh.

Tom wrapped his arms around Harry and let himself drift away. For the first time that he could remember, it was really _safe_ to do so.

*

Harry watched with quiet, narrowed eyes as Tom’s men shifted in front of him. Well, men and women. This particular version of Riddle seemed to have more female Death Eaters than just Bellatrix Lestrange.

_Not Riddle, Gaunt. And not Death Eaters, Knights of Walpurgis. And Bellatrix hasn’t been born in this world and might never be._

Harry took a slow, deep breath and let it out. He needed to keep reminding himself of that. He would mess everything up if he forgot what world he was in, which people he was surrounded by.

Currently, they were meeting in a manor house that _did_ used to belong to the Lestrange family, but Tom’s Lestrange follower said they’d sold it to Muggles long ago. Then Lestrange had simply chased the Muggles out again when Tom wanted it and set up spells to ensure they thought it was haunted and they wouldn’t return.

Harry hadn’t said anything about that, but Lestrange had flinched before his gaze and turned away. Harry supposed that was all he could ask for.

Tom put a light hand on his arm, and Harry nodded and sat down in the chair next to Tom. Tom himself was seated at the head of a long table, and the other Knights of Walpurgis hastened to sit down when Harry had.

“Now,” Tom said, clasping his hands as he leaned forwards. “You know that Dumbledore went through the portal after me. He will be inconvenienced and unable to return for a short time.” Harry clenched his jaw, but didn’t interrupt. The fact was, given the different rate at which time flowed in the two worlds, they couldn’t be sure they’d have the full month that the spell guaranteed in Godric’s Hollow. “We have excellent blackmail material thanks to Harry. We need to move now to destroy Dumbledore’s credibility.”

“But why now?” asked a woman with iron-grey hair who didn’t look old, just like that was her natural hair color. She frowned between Harry and Tom as if she didn’t expect them to be able to answer her question. “Why do we have to move so fast? You haven’t answered that so far, and I think you really should. My lord,” she added hastily, as Tom turned his head a little and looked at her.

“Because Dumbledore will return from the inconvenience soon.”

“But we’ve worked on efforts to collect blackmail for years.” The woman’s knuckles were white as she rested her hands on the table. At least she wasn’t clutching her wand as well, Harry thought. Tom got a little irrational when people held their wands like that around Harry. “We have to carefully deploy it.”

“Tell me, Shara, can you think of a reason we should _not_?”

“Please just trust us with the real reason, my lord.”

Harry memorized her face carefully. Shara of the unknown last name did look a little familiar, but with as inbred as most wizarding families in all versions of England tended to be, that didn’t mean much.

“Very well,” said Tom. “We have imprisoned Dumbledore in the dimension that both he and I traveled to. He might break free of the prison in a short time. It is impossible to be sure _how_ short the time is, as the time flow is different between the two dimensions. Now.” His voice chilled and lowered. “Is _that_ enough for you, Shara?”

Evidently not, because the woman turned to Harry next. Harry was a little impressed at her bravery. If not for Tom’s recruiting policies, he would have wondered if she had been a Gryffindor. “ _We_?”

“I cast the spell that imprisoned him,” Harry answered, because there was no mistaking who Shara’s question was addressed to.

“You’re not as strong as our lord. Why didn’t our lord cast it?”

Tom shifted next to him. Harry put a hand on his wrist. He didn’t really want Tom to destroy his relationship with a follower for Harry, as annoying as it was for that follower to question him.

“Raw magical strength isn’t all that a warrior needs. Or did Avery and Lestrange and Malfoy not tell you about the Order of the Phoenix members that I disabled near the portal?”

“You took them by surprise.”

Harry sighed. “Then would a dueling demonstration convince you? I promise not to break _too_ many of her bones, Tom,” he added, as his lover shifted again.

Tom gave him a heavy glance, and Harry would have recoiled if this was the appropriate venue for it. _Oh._ From the blaze in Tom’s eyes, he wasn’t worried about Harry breaking Shara’s bones at all.

“It would,” the woman said, standing and twirling her wand around her hand. “You must understand—what is your last name?”

“Potter.” Harry stepped back so that he was away from the table and flexed his wand hand.

No flicker of recognition on her face. It seemed that Tom was right about there being no Potters in this world. “Mr. Potter. I’m sensitive to magic. I always have been. And I know that you don’t have enough in your body to give me a fair fight.” She smiled a little. “My name is Shara Black. I hope you don’t mind losing.”

She passed behind Lestrange’s chair while Harry was still dealing with her last name, and he heard the bloke hiss, “Consider carefully, Black! Would Tom have chosen a weak consort?”

“Even our lord can be fooled,” Shara whispered, and she didn’t seem to notice or care about the way Tom’s eyes glowed. Harry wondered if she was one of the Knights Tom had told him about who was always testing his leadership because she was uneasy about following a half-blood.

Shara halted in front of Harry and gave him a parody of a friendly smile. “Do you always stand so tensely? Or only when you know that you are about to lose the duel?”

Harry said nothing. He ignored Tom’s eyes and the way that Lestrange had his hand across his face. Right now, nothing mattered except the woman in front of him, and the way she’d already started to brace herself. That posture would allow her to either catch a curse on a shield or move offensively. She was good.

Harry just knew he was better.

“What a silent one you’ve brought us, my lord.” Shara prowled a few steps closer. “I wonder if I should try to—make him speak. _Larimas invoco!_ ”

The Crying Curse poured from her wand and at Harry in a low green wave. Harry easily turned aside from it and turned the floor beneath Shara’s feet to mud. She found herself staggering when she tried to get out of the way, and cursed for a moment, wrenching at her trapped boot.

Harry used that moment to conjure another wave of mud. It swept over Shara and pinned her to the floor. Shara turned it to ice and escaped before Harry thought she could, which was evidence of planning that he had to admire. He circled, his eyes on her, and at least the smile was gone from her face and she seemed to be taking him seriously now.

“You’re not,” Shara said, and didn’t finish the sentence. Instead, she summoned a huge swarm of black beetles to send after him.

Harry suspected the tactic was more effective than it appeared because of how many people would start swatting at the beetles, but it didn’t work on him. He had dealt with worse than insects. He froze them, too, and stepped over their shattered, icy corpses, his wand as steady as a plank.

“You haven’t proved yourself yet!” Shara said, and cast the next spell without speaking. However, Harry knew the feeling of the Imperius Curse too well to be surprised—and it was indeed the next thing that an opponent losing a duel like this would probably turn to. He let it settle over him, breathed out, and waited until Shara spoke so that the other Knights would know what spell she had cast.

“Lay down your wand and kneel to me!”

Harry smiled. “No.” He took advantage of the split second of surprise that crossed her face and conjured chains that bound her to the wall. Then he Disarmed her and considered a second before he nodded and turned to Tom. “I assume the duel is over when one of us defeats the other?”

*

 _Merlin, Harry_.

Tom hoped that he wasn’t too obvious with the way he licked his lips and leaned slowly back in the chair so that he could shift his weight. His Knights were all busy staring at Harry instead of him, though, or at Black, one of his best fighters, defeated so easily.

Tom would miss the sight of Harry glowing with conjured blue flame, but he was right that he didn’t need it to defend himself. Powerful magic really meant nothing next to experience and knowledge of spells.

Harry spoke, and Tom paid attention to the words long enough to nod. “It is.” He cast an indifferent glance at Black, and found that she was deeply enough in shock that she would probably need some prompting. “Shara? Do you yield?”

“I—yield, my lord.”

Her voice was low, but her gaze remained fastened on Harry in a way that made Tom bristle as Harry removed the chains and walked over to give her her wand. Other Knights of Walpurgis, or even just wizards in general, might feel slighted at losing a duel. Shara, though, would admire the one who had defeated her, and perhaps prove a problem in the future.

Just as Harry handed her wand back to Shara, a sharp ripple seemed to travel through his body. Tom stood up, making it look as if he was simply taking a step to the side. But he was in time to see Harry clench his jaw and fight back a gasp of pain. The sense of magic in the room also deepened for a second, then bobbed up and down and flickered wildly, as if someone was making shadow puppets in front of a light.

Tom frowned. What _was_ that? He had felt nothing similar in the world of Godric’s Hollow, no matter how strong a spell Harry used.

“I hope that we might duel sometime in the future,” Shara said softly as she placed the wand in her sleeve.

“Of course we could,” Harry said, and turned around. He scowled at Tom when Tom opened his mouth to comment.

 _Very well. He’ll only say that he’s fine at the moment, so we’ll stay away from the topic for now._ Tom sat down and cocked an eyebrow at his other Knights. “Is there anyone else who will say that Harry is not worthy of standing with us?”

“No,” the murmur came back, but it was touched with resentment as well as awe. Not everyone would have their admiration won so quickly as had happened for Shara. Some would seek to displace Harry so that they could stand higher in Tom’s favor.

Well, let them try. Tom favored the people gathered in this room because they were powerful allies and fighters, and clever planners. If they lost out to Harry, then he would know he couldn’t trust them, and he would rely on stronger people in the end.

His hand encircled Harry’s wrist casually beneath the level of the table. Harry leaned back with a slight grimace and nodded.

He would know that he couldn’t escape the interrogation Tom had planned for later. It pleased Tom that they understood each other so well.


	4. Haruspex

“I want you to tell me what that was, Harry.”

“How can I tell you something I have no idea of myself?”

Tom paused. He’d been sure that Harry knew the source of that odd ripple that had traveled through his magic after his duel with Black, and that the main problem would be getting him to speak the truth. But Harry sat with his head between his hands, a shiver wracking him. Perhaps he was speaking the truth now.

Tom circled around and knelt down in front of him. Harry blinked and lifted his head. “It looks wrong to see you on your knees.”

“I only need the right incentive,” Tom murmured, and enjoyed the sight of Harry’s face flushing bright pink even though he had no intention of fucking him right now. He glided his hand down Harry’s ribs. “What did the ripple feel like?”

“As though my magic had woken up and was trying to rip its way out of my body the way it would a cocoon.”

“I wish you hadn’t sacrificed so much of your magic to stabilize the portal.”

“Well, if I hadn’t, then neither of us would be here at all,” said Harry, and his hands were clenched in front of him. “Can you just _try_ to not make this a bigger deal than it already was?”

“Something is wrong with your magic. Of course I want to help you heal it.”

Harry met his eyes for a second, then turned his head away, nodding. “Yes, fine. I just don’t want you to act as though I’ve been keeping information about this from you deliberately. If something had happened right after I stabilized the portal, I would have told you.”

Tom nodded, appeased. That wouldn’t keep him from watching out in the future to make sure that Harry didn’t hide _more_ of it from him, of course. “Fine. Now I want you to lie down on the bed. I need to find a mouse.”

Harry had started to do as Tom instructed, but now he turned his head. “A _mouse_? Why?”

“As a blood sacrifice for the ritual to tell what happened to your magic.”

“Tom. Don’t do that.”

Tom paused and turned back around, spinning neatly on one foot. Harry was leaning towards him, hanging off the bed. His eyes were brilliant, and if he didn’t have magic sparking around him at the moment, well, he didn’t need it. He had enough determination to stop a charging griffin in its tracks.

“You can’t tell me that you care that much about a mouse’s life.”

“I care enough not to want you to sacrifice _anything_ for me, no matter how tempting it might be,” Harry snapped.

“And I admire your compassion, but I’ll hit it with the Killing Curse. It’s not as though it’ll suffer.”

“It’s still _blood magic_.”

“Yes. The sort of sacrifice that I used to appease the oracle and open the portal that took me to your second world. Or did you manage to forget that in the agony of falling in love with me?”

Harry dropped his head back with a clench of his teeth. Yes, from the sound of things, he _had_ forgotten that. Tom beamed at him and went to the cage that he kept ready in a corner of the house’s second room. It was full of mice in stasis, along with a few rats and small birds; certain rituals worked better with either larger sacrifices or feathered ones. Tom scooped up one of the mice and carried it into the bedroom.

Harry was lying down only insofar as reclining against a mound of pillows constituted that. He had his arms folded and his gaze fixed on Tom.

“You know that not watching might make you feel better about this?”

“No. It deserves to have someone witness its death.”

“It’s in _stasis,_ Harry. It’s not even going to know the spell’s coming.”

Harry didn’t move his body or his eyes. Tom sighed and struck the mouse with a casual Killing Curse, then dropped it in the middle of a small table that he used exclusively for ritual and cut open the belly. Drawing out the entrails made Harry cover his mouth with his hand for a moment.

“What, divining by entrails wasn’t a common practice in your time?” Tom asked, glancing over. The mouse’s entrails had told him nothing, as a matter of fact—they usually didn’t, being too small—but he wasn’t about to let the chance to go to waste. He channeled the blood spilling from the small, slit body into the groove that circled the edge of the table.

“It might have been. I wouldn’t know. Divination rubbish.”

“Divination isn’t rubbish if you practice it the right way,” Tom corrected him, but absently. He had other things to worry about right now.

The blood groove for the table finally filled completely; one mouse was just enough to manage it. Tom laid aside the gutted mouse and bowed his head. When he calmed and centered himself, the words were waiting in his head. They were different every time, the calling upon the terrifying Dark power that answered questions such as these.

Tom never intended to stop casting the spells or making the sacrifices, though.

“ _Sanguis, sanguis, quod cenat sanguinem, responsum sanguis_.”

The air around him stirred. Tom opened his eyes in time to see the blood being swallowed, sucked out of the groove around the edge of the table like it was being drawn up a straw.

“Tom, what the _hell_ —”

Tom held up his hand. The white fire took form around his fingers as he watched, and he turned around and let the fire flow towards Harry.

It was a good thing that Harry didn’t have his wand in hand at the moment, or Tom knew he would have fought. As it was, he did raise his palm in front of him as if he thought he could block the stream of light.

The light shone around Harry and danced in circles that reminded Tom of some of the ones that fellow Slytherins had drawn in the dorms at night—never anyone who was very serious, of course, because _those_ rituals weren’t meant for public eyes. But this particular sacrifice turned Harry’s skin transparent and let Tom watch how the magic flowed under his skin.

And the disturbing ripples in the middle of it.

Tom sighed and reached out, catching Harry’s chin when he tried to jerk his head to the side. “It’s all right,” he said quietly. “You did lessen your magic when you stabilized the portal, you know. And you also upset it.”

“Upset it?” Harry stared at Tom as if he had suddenly stopped speaking English.

“Snarled it, the way you might your hair—” Tom stopped and made a show of peering at Harry’s hair. “Well, the way _ordinary_ people might snarl their hair. I think yours is pretty much permanently tangled.”

Harry rolled his eyes at him. “Fine. What does that mean? Is it a disease? Is there something I have to do to fix it?”

“It means that you’re going to have fluctuations for a while. Think of your magic as a pool that got disturbed with the throw of a stone. Only yours is more like a boulder. It’s going to take a long time for those ripples to die down, and while they’re still moving, your magic is going to be subject to fluctuations.”

“Fluctuations?” Harry’s hand tightened on Tom’s in a way that finally said he seemed to be taking this seriously. Tom gently unclenched his fingers and leaned over to kiss his forehead and the faded mark of the scar that Tom Riddle in another world had used to claim Harry. Tom liked to touch it, smooth it, and think about what kind of claim _he_ had on Harry, a deeper one.

“Yes. Disturbances in your magic the way you felt tonight when you dueled Shara. That means that you will have to be careful in battle. You might suddenly be in pain and unable to fight your enemies.”

“Doesn’t sound good.” Harry’s voice was low.

“No.” Tom paused, because he knew what was coming even if Harry didn’t, and he liked the anticipation. “That means that you’re going to need the bodyguards that I put on you tomorrow.”

“ _What_.”

“Oh, yes,” Tom said. “We can’t have you falling apart in battle after all, not when you’re carrying my heart around with you. I think that Shara will be one of them. She’s impressed enough by you that she wants to watch you and figure out how to imitate you. She’s not going to attack you right away even if she sees you have a fluctuation right in front of her, the way it happened tonight.”

“You are _not_ going to stick guards on me, Tom.” Harry bared his teeth, and there was a flare behind them that looked almost like a remnant of the white light from the divination ritual.

“It can’t have been the only time in your life that you had them. In fact, I’m sure it’s not. I seem to remember some memories I watched when you let me use the Angelfire on you. Guards when you left your relatives’ home? Guards during the war, when my counterpart was trying to kill you?”

“I _don’t want them._ ”

“Unless you can convince me that your magic isn’t going to fluctuate anymore and possibly endanger you in the middle of battle, then you need them.”

“How can I promise you that when I don’t really know when it’ll happen myself?”

“Exactly.”

Harry let his head fall back with a long hiss. He said to the ceiling, “Coming to Jonquil’s world was supposed to eliminate the need for stupid things like this.”

Tom smiled and sat down beside him, tracing one finger along the shell of his ear to see Harry start and shiver. Harry then swore at him. Tom primly ignored that, lacing his fingers together on his knee. “I hope that you see I’m only trying to keep you safe for your own good, Harry. And mine. What do you think would happen if I saw you wounded?”

Harry stared at him. “Nothing? I mean, I would be wounded?”

Tom rolled his eyes. Harry understood so much about the cramped conditions he had lived under in his first world, but at the same time, he acted as though he couldn’t see other natural consequences of his behavior. “I would lose control, Harry. It was hard enough for me to act gracious and kind to your cousin because you wanted me to, or to Dumbledore because you had known a version of him. The mere thought of you being wounded, possibly killed—I _will_ kill someone else.”

“Not an exaggeration,” Harry said a second later, sounding stunned.

“Not at all.”

*

 _Shit._ People in Harry’s first world—namely, Hermione and Kingsley—had once tried to argue with him about him needing guards because the public’s morale would take a hit if they saw Harry wounded. But when they said he needed bodyguards for the sake of other people, he didn’t think this was what they had had in mind.

“Could you _not_ do that, please?”

Tom smiled at him like a fox. Harry groaned and didn’t glance over at the dead mouse on the table next to him, because that was just more proof of what Tom was perfectly willing to do in the name of guarding him.

“What if I asked you not to?”

Tom shook his head. “I’ve been able to be controlled around you because there’s been no large provocation, Harry. Seeing you wounded? Would be one.” He then examined his nails and hummed under his breath, as if waiting for Harry to make some other objection.

Harry said softly, “You treat even someone you love this way.”

Tom looked up at him quickly. Then he reached out and clasped Harry’s arm and said, “It’s _because_ I love you that I treat you this way.”

“Right.”

“I never thought I would find someone I could ever love, Harry. And you want me to treat you lightly now and act as though you being hurt would be a matter of no importance to me? That’s _not the way it works_.” Tom’s voice sank. “I’m never going to let you go. I’m never going to let you get hurt in a way I could help. Yes, I would lash out at the person who wounded you if you don’t have guards. That’s the way I am.”

Harry hesitated, then nodded slowly. He didn’t like it much, but he did understand. It was sort of the way he had to try and help someone else in need, even if Tom didn’t like it or Ron and Hermione scolded him for it. He had to do it.

“You’ll have guards who respect your power,” Tom said quietly. “I know it seemed as if none of my people did, except Shara after your duel, but there are some. You’ll have what you need.”

 _To stay safe,_ is what Tom didn’t say immediately after that. Well, Harry could hardly blame him. Tom Gaunt with a broken heart was probably no safer than Tom Riddle with a broken soul.

“I do understand,” Harry said, after a minute of struggling with it. “And if this is what you need to stay sane when we go into battle, then I’ll do it.”

Tom’s smile made his face glow with a soft light. “Thank you.”

*

“The article came out this morning.”

Harry extended an impatient hand. To his surprise, it wasn’t a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ that Tom put into it, although from things Tom had said Harry knew that newspaper was familiar to people in this world. Instead, it was a paper that looked like little more than a rag, called the _Trumpet_ , with a logo of what looked like a fat little cherub blowing a horn.

But the headline was as spectacular as anything his own _Prophet_ had ever published and run under Rita Skeeter’s byline.

_ALBUS DUMBLEDORE: LOVER OF GELLERT GRINDELWALD?_

Harry blew out his breath slowly. “I know Malfoy wasn’t confident about finding someone who would go for this bargain. But he found someone, I see.” He glanced at the byline, but other than the fact that the last name was Flint, he didn’t find anything familiar about it.

“There are always people whose need for money outweighs their fear of the political consequences.” Tom was leaning back so that his feet were hooked under the table and his chair was balancing on its hind legs. Harry hid a grin. Tom looked about three years younger than he really was, right now. “What are you laughing at?”

 _That’s the problem with having an observant lover._ Harry shook his head. “I’m just pleased that you’re getting what you wanted with a minimum of fuss.” He handed the paper back to Tom.

“There will be a lot of fuss before it’s all done, I’m sure.” Tom’s eyes were narrowed, and he looked like a cat an invisible hand was stroking. “Which is what we want.”

“Yes.” Harry looked again at the article. It sounded as though whoever had written this was as breathless as Rita Skeeter about revelations, but Harry could understand why. Apparently those letters they’d retrieved from Bagshot had a _lot_ of information in them.

Harry could only read a few of the quotes about eternal love and longing and domination of the Muggles before he flinched away, though. He pushed the paper back to Tom and asked, “How are we going to get Jonquil away from the Order of the Phoenix?”

Tom leaned back in his seat and stared up at the ceiling. “I should have suspected you would crush my triumph with the reminder of your cousin.”

“I want to make sure she gets home safely.”

“Do you still care that much about her?”

“Enough to make sure she gets home safely. I wouldn’t abandon you for her, if that’s what you’re asking.”

From the way Tom started, it _was_ what he’d wanted to ask, only he didn’t know any graceful way to do so. He reached up and gently ran his thumb over the bump of Harry’s wristbone. “You’re still too compassionate to someone who would have loved to take your place at my side,” he said, but his voice was mild.

“Someone who felt desperate enough to run away to this world, and might be held and interrogated by people who have no reason to be kind to her.” Harry held Tom’s eyes, and raised an eyebrow high enough that Tom wouldn’t be able to ignore him. “So what’s the plan?”


	5. On Jonquil's Trail

"There is going to be an effort made to find Harry's cousin."

Tom watched the flicker of awareness travel around the faces of his Knights, and suppressed a smile. They knew what he was saying in a way that Harry didn't. Yes, they would make the effort, but if they couldn't succeed, then Tom was saying that was fine. And if they did find Jonquil and would encounter too much resistance from Order of the Phoenix members to rescue her, then they would retreat and try again later.

"Why are they all smirking?" Harry muttered to him out of the corner of his mouth.

"I'll explain later, dear," Tom murmured, something that always stilled Harry, and this time let his smile widen across his face. "You have my permission to use any spells that you need to find Jonquil Potter and keep Harry safe in the meantime."

"Including blood tracking, my lord?" That was Roland, his body hunching a little forwards. He did love his blood magic, and he didn't always get to practice it when Tom's people worked on normal maneuvers like attempted conversion of Minsitry officials.

"Yes. You may do that."

Roland turned his head like a compass needle to Harry. "Then may we have some of his blood? Since he does have a relation of sorts to the young woman we're seeking. Potter blood ought to work even across different dimensions, the similarity of the blood combined with affection."

Tom heard the pause around "young woman," not that Harry would. Harry only looked coolly back at Roland and held out his arm.

"Are you sure you want to do that, Potter?" That was Shara, who had accepted Harry's defeat of her in good grace and wanted to work with him, exactly as Tom had predicted. "Avery's methods of extracting blood and using it aren't what everyone would agree to."

"I would do anything to find Jonquil."

Tom rested a heavy hand on Harry's shoulder as he saw a different kind of glance exchanged among his Knights. They would regard such attachment to anyone, even a family member, as a weakness to be exploited. Tom caught a few important glances and held them long enough to be certain that people would understand the price if they moved against Harry.

"Then give me your blood, Potter." Roland came forwards eagerly, holding out his hands. In one was his wand, in the other the long silvery dagger that he preferred to use for these operations. Harry faced him unflinchingly.

From the way Roland paused and blinked, Harry must at least have earned some points with him for his demeanor. He nodded a little as he cut delicately at Harry's wrist with the dagger and carefully tilted it so that the resulting drops of blood stayed on the blade instead of falling. He also seemed to respect the way that Harry refused to flinch or moan with the pain.

Roland stepped back with the blood after a moment, his mouth moving in the involuntary smile he always used at these times. He caught Tom's eye and the smile dropped away quickly, but he did nod. Tom relaxed. Good, he had understood the implied message about what would happen if he tried to use Harry's blood for anything other than tracking Jonquil.

Proving he wasn't _completely_ oblivious of the undercurrents, Harry reached back and squeezed Tom's hand, moving it back and forth a little. Tom ignored that. Harry was saying he could protect himself. Well, yes, he could, but Tom was still going to protect him anyway.

Roland was an artist with blood magic, and it was a pleasure to watch him work. He moved the dagger back and forth, chanting swiftly under his breath, words practiced so many times they sound almost like the humming of a beehive instead of Latin. Then he spun the dagger precisely, hurling the blood droplets into the air.

The blood collected above Roland's head and formed a glowing, balloon-shaped picture for a moment. Then the balloon streamed into an arrow, aiming steadily away from them and a bit northwest, Tom thought, if he was remembering the orientation of the house's wall correctly. Roland bowed to Tom and then, after a moment, to Harry, his cheeks glowing as if he'd been running for an hour. "That is where the girl is, my lord."

"Very good," Tom said, making sure to keep his voice soft with congratulations and look just at Roland for a moment. Roland almost strutted back to his seat, but he deserved it. That had been textbook blood magic.

"Well, let's go find her," Harry snapped, turning around as if he expected to charge through the wall after the arrow. "Will that move with us as we move?"

"Of course." Roland sounded as though Harry was losing some of the ground he had gained with him. "It would be useless otherwise."

Tom raised an eyebrow, and Roland swallowed and nodded. Harry squeezed Tom's hand in what felt like annoyance this time, and stepped away from him.

Tom reeled him back and said smoothly, "As you can tell, Harry is not used to our world yet, or the number of alliances that he might find here among pure-bloods who either don't exist in his worlds or won't be wearing familiar faces. He might not be familiar with our Muggleborn members or important people in our society at all. I would like a group of three to volunteer to guide him and protect him in extreme situations."

Shara moved forwards at once, as Tom had known she would. "I would be honored to escort the man who defeated me, my lord."

"And others?" Tom looked around the room in pretended boredom, as though he expected all his Knights to volunteer at once. In practice, he knew that wouldn't happen, but the slowness and the refusals would be as interesting as the ones quick to leap forwards.

Philip inclined his head a little. "You may depend on me to safeguard anything important to you, my lord."

"I am glad to hear that, Philip."

Tom gave his voice an extra little flip at the end, and saw Philip's jaw clench. But he did nod and move up to stand on Harry's right side; Shara had taken the left. Tom looked around for his third volunteer.

Abraxas caught his eye. Tom gazed back. Abraxas was a powerful wizard and skilled in using spells that could plausibly look legal while being Dark enough to serve a protective role. He also hadn't hidden his jealousy of Harry.

"Let me, please, my lord," Abraxas said steadily, even though a muscle jumped in his cheek. "I know that I'll need to accept him and his importance to you. This is one way of moving forwards to understand."

Tom let the silence linger long enough for Harry to turn around and stare at him, then nodded graciously. "Then you may try," he said. Another muscle jumped in Abraxas's face before he nodded and took point position in front of Harry.

"Split," Tom ordered then. "A third of us will go after Jonquil Potter. A third will remain here to answer questions from the reporter should she return. A third will return to spreading the other blackmail we have and encouraging the rumors about Dumbledore. I expect to see all of you when we return this evening, _promptly_ at six."

"How can we put a time on a rescue mission like that?" Harry muttered, right on cue. "We might need longer than that to find her. Even a _lot_ longer than that."

Tom could feel Abraxas's long-suffering expression waiting for him to look at it. He ignored the temptation. "We will deal with the circumstances as we find them. If it turns out that we need to spend more time in reconnaissance, I will send a message to the others."

Harry didn't look satisfied, but nodded. Tom knew that if he found Jonquil being tortured or the like, nothing short of strongarming him would convince him to walk away at the meeting time.

That was all right with Tom. He trusted in his assessment of the Order of the Phoenix that they wouldn't do something like that without more reason than Jonquil would have given them, no matter how annoying she was.

And he wasn't above strongarming. He nearly looked forwards to the excuse, in fact.

_I am going to enjoy irritating Harry by keeping him safe._

*

Harry hadn't ground his teeth out of existence by the time they'd Apparated to the hill where they could see the red arrow actually pointing at a building, but Black, Lestrange, and Malfoy had all given him excellent practice in trying.

Black kept closest to him, and every time they Apparated, she stepped in front of Harry and looked around. Lestrange tended to linger on his right side, and snap his eyes around instead of his wand. Malfoy would cover all directions, and he was the one insisted on Side-Along Apparating Harry, although since they were going along the arrow's path, he could see where they were going exactly as well as Malfoy and Apparate to the same landmarks.

But they seemed to be doing what Tom had told them, so Harry remained quiet for now, staring towards the building. It looked like a fortress instead of a house, he thought, although he could still see the traces of what looked like a more normal veranda and front door. There were wards gleaming everywhere he looked. The original brick walls had been partially Transfigured into granite. The grass itself had been cut back, and the stumps of trees that had originally leaned over the walls were so visible Harry was a little surprised they'd left a grown tree off to the side of the house.

Harry stared at that one, and nodded when he saw a ward wrapped around the trunk. "That's a trap," he said, not really expecting his guards to listen to him.

Black turned to face him. "What is?"

"That tree they've left." Harry gestured to it. It was a huge oak, and the ward had even been wrapped to trace the branches. "If you touch it anywhere, that ward will make it explode. There are other spells to protect the house from any shrapnel. Touching it with a spell will make it do the same thing."

"What the--what the hell are you _talking_ about?" Malfoy demanded. "That's a tree."

Harry glanced sideways at him. "You don't see the ward wrapped around it? Outlining the branches? But it's mostly on the trunk."

Malfoy looked at the tree, squinting. Harry was starting to wonder if he had made a mistake, maybe seeing some kind of reflection or the light of another ward, when Black whistled softly. "Yes, there it is! I had to study it closely to see it. How did you glimpse it from this distance with your glasses, Potter?"

Harry shrugged. "I'm more used to looking for things like it, maybe." He studied the house again. Jonquil was in there, and they _were_ going to get her out. Even if he had to charge that damn warded tree himself and deflect the explosion so it would manage to blow a hole in the wall instead of in them.

"That doesn't really explain things," Malfoy said.

Harry rolled his eyes without looking at the bastard. Malfoy was welcome to be as suspicious as he liked. Harry was still going to use his eyes and his skills to safeguard them, and to rescue Jonquil.

"That is the kind of ward he says it is," Lestrange put in. "I've seen enough of them to know."

"But how did Potter know it would be wrapped around the tree? What made him look so closely at the tree in the first place? How does he know what it does? That's an amazing amount of information to get just by looking at the spell."

Harry said nothing, but drew his wand. He could see a flow of movement around the corner of the house. Someone, or something, was coming to check on them, perhaps alerted by the noise of their Apparitions or spells that were meant to help them detect life.

"Maybe it really is the way he says it is. Maybe he's just so experienced in battle situations that he knows what to look for--"

"I've never known you to be a fool before, Shara."

"Does it matter how he knows?" Lestrange interjected in a low voice that Harry thought meant he was also watching that flow of movement. "He knows. And we can see it now, and realize that there will be spells along the side of the house to defend it from the tree falling on it. That means we need to pay more attention to the house itself." He turned to Harry. "What should we do, Potter?"

"Fight," Harry answered, a second before the flow of movement reared up like a snake and he flung a complicated Burning Curse at it.

Lestrange jumped in front of him and launched a spell of his own. Black raised a shield. Malfoy was slower on the draw, but jumped when Tom abruptly Apparated in next to them and started cursing what looked like an enormous serpent.

"What was the point of giving me bodyguards if you just intended to come yourself?" Harry complained under his breath as he studied the serpent. It was made of rocks and dirt, so his original Burning Curse hadn't done much to it. This time, he cast a spell that would liquefy the bones of a human opponent. He smiled as he watched the dirt turn to mud and start dripping off the thing.

"I happened to be looking in this direction."

Harry kept his reaction at the obvious lie to himself, because now the door of the fortress-house was open and members of the Order of the Phoenix started coming out. They seemed to all have the brand of the phoenix on their faces, at least as far as Harry could tell from here. They shouted at the sight of Harry, Tom, and the others on the hill, and dashed towards them.

"Sloppy," Tom hissed under his breath. "I'd stay in the house until the serpent at least wore the attackers out." He touched Harry's arm and caught his eye. "Will you try to command the snake with me?"

"What?"

"I want to see if the serpent might be vulnerable to Parseltongue. _Speak with me and tell it to turn and attack the attackers._ "

Harry shook his head, partially because he could hear the gasps around him and he thought Tom was using this as an excuse to show Harry's Parseltongue off to his followers. But he still gripped Tom's hand in his and began to speak. " _Great snake, hear me! We are both your masters. The people behind you are the ones who have enslaved you. Turn and attack them!_ "

There was a moment when the serpent halted in place, swaying back and forth, and Harry thought they had slowed it down enough for spells from the other hidden group of Knights to take effect. And then it turned around and actually slithered back and _did_ begin to drive its rocky nose down among the Order. Shrieks and the snap of fierce spells rose to them.

Harry blinked. "Huh," he said.

"Even more dramatic phrasing than I would have insisted on, Harry."

 _Oh, great._ Tom had forgotten about the battle enough to let his hunger glimmer in his eyes. Harry glanced politely away and found Malfoy gaping at him. Black had a pleased expression on her face, as if happy that someone who had defeated her also had enough strength to be a Parselmouth. Lestrange looked as if someone had slapped him.

And Harry felt the beginning of a fluctuation in his magic. He reached out and squeezed Tom's arm sharply, which was the signal they had agreed on if Harry did feel something.

Tom moved to the side without looking at him and said, "Shara, get him out of here. I'm going into the house when the snake is finished to look for Harry's cousin."

"No!" Harry shouted. He'd meant to tell Tom that he wouldn't be able to cast any more spells for the rest of the battle, not that he wanted to leave before Jonquil was found. He managed to shove Tom to the side before the ripple in his magic convulsed his body with pain. Then he had to stand still, but he glared hard enough at Black that she hesitated before taking his arm.

"Black."

In the end, that word was enough. Black nodded and Side-Along Apparated Harry before he could object. He found himself staggering in the middle of the hill behind the house where the Knights of Walpurgis had met that morning.

He immediately turned and tried to Apparate back himself--he could imagine the fortress-house well enough to do that--

But Black's wand was aimed between his eyes. Black gave him a half-smile. "I do admire you, Potter. But I have my lord to obey."

"I might not have been able to fight anymore, but I could still be there!" Harry shouted. He made himself calm down when he saw how Black's wand moved as if she was going to cast a Stunner. "I wanted to be able to see them pull Jonquil out of that building. And what were the three of you there for, if not to protect me?"

"I can protect you here."

And Black wouldn't budge, no matter how calmly Harry spoke or what he threatened her with when he finally lost patience. He ended up pacing in circles, glaring at her and gazing towards the northeast where the arrow had led them, waiting for Jonquil and Tom to come back.

And trying to ignore the pain that swirled inside him, the pain he might have to live with for the rest of his life.


	6. Responsibility

 

Tom burst through the door of the Order of the Phoenix's fortress, ducking his head as spells zipped over it. It seemed they'd been smarter than he thought at first, leaving some of their force behind the defenses to deal with anyone who might make it past the outer ones.

But it was still nothing against him, or against Abraxas's swift spells, or against Roland's blood magic, which curled and snapped in red coils around the legs and ankles of their opponents. Tom smiled a little as he watched Order of the Phoenix members collapse. Those who continued to fight too hard had their heads torn from their shoulders.

For years, he and his Knights hadn't dared this kind of open action. Tom didn't intend to leave any witnesses behind, which was the only reason he allowed it now.

He cast a spell that detected human life, and nodded as three of the doors glowed. A nonverbal Wind Curse flung all of them open at once. He got a groan as one door clobbered someone hiding behind it, a wave of Dumbledore's men from the second, and a scream that he remembered less than fondly.

"Please, help! They've been holding me prisoner here!"

Tom traded glances with Abraxas, silently telling him to handle the others, and swept into the room where Jonquil Potter was being held. It seemed to be a bedroom from which the bed had been abruptly removed, judging by the pattern of dust on the floor. Jonquil was bound to a chair, her arms linked together with rope and her legs with chain. Tom wondered for a moment why they hadn't gagged her, but more footprints in the dust told of a hasty exit. They'd probably been interrogating her when he and the Knights arrived.

Jonquil, her black hair hanging in scraggly curls around her, drew another breath and let it go without shouting. "Tom?"

Tom fought the urge to kill her for the hope shining in her eyes, and the only reason he _really_ did was because Harry would be disappointed in him otherwise. "Potter," he said curtly. He severed the chain and rope with precisely aimed hexes, then faced Abraxas. "Can you make sure that Philip comes to me?"

Abraxas nodded and sprinted off. Of all his Knights, Philip was the most competent with healing spells. Tom, turning back and studying Jonquil, couldn't see much except some bruises, chafing from her bonds, and a knot on the back of her head, but for Harry's sake, he would have her checked over carefully.

"Why are you here, if you didn't come to rescue me?"

"For Harry's sake. _He_ wanted you rescued."

Jonquil threw her head back defiantly. "I thought I made it clear to my family that I'm an adult and I was leaving them behind when I came through the portal. Why did Harry come after me?"

"Because, for reasons that are utterly obscure to me," Tom drawled as Philip appeared in the room's doorway, "Harry loves you." He nodded at Philip. "Make sure that her bruises are healed, and the chafing."

Philip eased carefully past him. Tom narrowed his eyes at him, and Philip mouthed, _Harry loves her?_

Ah. Philip thought Tom was dealing with a romantic rival, and wondered at the restraint, which Tom normally would not have bothered to put on himself. Tom's lip quivered at the thought of considering Jonquil a rival for _anything_.

"Philip, this is Harry's cousin, Jonquil Potter," was all he said, and left the room. He found his strides abruptly becoming longer as he left the house, nodding when members of his Knights called out their intentions to him. They were all doing exactly as he wanted them to, binding and bringing along the vast majority of the Order of the Phoenix members as prisoners, cleaning up the bodies, and neatly finishing off anyone so badly wounded that none of Philip's spells would reach them.

He had time to go back to Harry and _talk_ to him.

*

Harry spun around the minute he heard the crack of Apparition. He knew it was Tom's without even questioning. There was something distinct about the sound, as though it had knives that sliced the air.

"Tom! Is Jonquil all right?"

From the way that Tom's jaw jutted out from his face, that was the wrong question to ask. Tom nodded to Black and stalked over to Harry, grabbing his arm. "Your services are appreciated, Shara."

Black bowed at once and Apparated without a pause. Harry tried to shake his arm out of Tom's grip, studying his face. "You would have said something if Jonquil wasn't all right," he guessed when Tom remained silent and motionless. "You wouldn't have tried to hide your glee, at least."

"I think you need reminding of who I am," Tom said, his hand rising from Harry's arm to touch his face. Harry paused. Despite how gentle Tom's touch was, there was more than a trace of danger in it. "And who you are. And who your cousin is."

"I put up with the damn guards that you stuck on me," Harry snarled at him. Tom was spoiling for a fight, was he? Harry had no idea why, but he would _give_ him one, then. "I let Black take me out of there when I knew I couldn't cast spells. I didn't _lie_ and say that I could fight when I couldn't! I'm not tearing you apart with my bare hands trying to get information on Jonquil right now! Tell me _what the hell is going on, Tom_."

Tom only watched him with reptilian patience for a moment, then nodded. "You also didn't go willingly, after promising me that you would accept the guards. You could have been a liability to me, to yourself, to my Knights, even to Jonquil if the fluctuation had struck after you entered the house. You questioned me about her first."

"What--what does that have to do with anything?"

"Remember that I put up with her for your sake, Harry. She has done nothing to endear herself to me. _Rather the opposite._ "

Those last words were in Parseltongue. Harry replied in the same language, searching Tom's expression for some clue about what he was supposed to be seeing. " _You know that you come first with me, Tom._ "

" _Then why did you ask about her and not me_?"

" _Because I can see perfectly well that you're not injured! I have no idea about her._ "

Tom's nostrils flared for a second. Then he nodded. "She had bruises and some marks on her wrists and probably her legs where she was bound," he said in English. "A knot in the back of her head. I told Philip to heal her."

Harry scowled at him. "That's one of the reasons that you wanted him to be my guard, isn't it? Because he could heal me if something _happened_ to me."

Tom moved abruptly. Harry found himself propelled backwards against the trunk of a scrubby tree and held there. Harry tried to lash back, instinctively using his power instead of his body, and his magic rippled and twisted like wind. He convulsed in agony.

Tom held him steady, the soft grip of his hands utterly at odds with the rough Parseltongue words. " _I'm not that stable at the best of times, Harry. I can control myself best with preparation and in political situations. In battle, I fight to keep alive, and I've wounded allies before when they were too close to me and my brain mistook them for enemies._

" _Now I have you as a new source of stability. But you're vulnerable as well. Remember what I told you about how I would guard you? Imagine what would happen if I undertook preparations to guard you and_ you were hurt anyway _."_

Harry swallowed. "You're saying that you would have destroyed--"

"The Order of the Phoenix, at the very least. More likely the house. Maybe some of my Knights. You want your cousin to stay alive? _You must_."

Tom leaned towards him as he said that and kissed him ferociously. Arms held back, Harry accepted the kiss and then sighed when it was done, leaning in so that he could drop his chin on Tom's shoulder.

"I didn't mean to make you angry," he whispered. "But Tom, Jonquil does mean a lot to me. Not as much as you," he added hastily as he felt Tom's muscles coiling. "But a lot."

"Tell me why."

"Can we go inside and sit down first?" Harry looked into the distance, but he still didn't see anyone Apparating back with Jonquil or prisoners. Then again, they were behind the house, and he and Tom hadn't been talking very long. "I'd like to talk about this in a room where none of your Knights are going to stumble in accidentally."

Tom looked as if he wished he could purr. "That would be acceptable, Harry." He released Harry's arms and held out his own, offering support into the house.

 _He likes it when I ask to be private with him,_ Harry thought in bewilderment as he followed Tom into the house. Harry's only prior experience of something like that had been with people who were pleased and proud to be dating _Harry Potter_.

_I wonder why he’s so happy to be alone with me? It’s not as though he cares about the kind of fame that I used to have, and he admires my magic and my skills but it’s not the reason he fell in love with me._

Tom glanced back at him, and Harry felt a new understanding come to life in him like a flame springing up.

_It’s because he loves me. He doesn’t need any reason other than that._

*

“Stop casting bloody diagnostic charms on me, Tom.”

Tom watched the results of his latest one fade away, and nodded. It seemed true that Harry had taken no hurt in the battle, and he also hadn’t sustained any visible damage to his body or magic from the fluctuations he went through.

Which was only reassuring on one level, since an injury to the deep magic in Harry’s body would produce exactly that kind of result while wreaking all sorts of invisible havoc.

Tom gritted his teeth and pushed the glass of water he’d fetched Harry towards him across the table. Harry sighed, but picked it up and took a drink, and also took a bite of the cheese wedge Tom had given him that was more symbolic than anything. Tom nodded and leaned back in his chair.

“I want to know why you’d risk everything for Jonquil when she hasn’t exactly treated you well.”

“She’s my family—”

“That doesn’t _matter,_ Harry. You didn’t grow up with her. You’re only related to her because you both happen to have the name Potter. You weren’t even born in the same bloody dimension! Help me understand.” Tom managed to recapture his breath and his sanity at the same moment. “Tell me why.”

“I am telling you. Is it my fault that you don’t listen?” Harry calmed himself and turned away, staring at the far wall. Tom hated that he couldn’t imagine any of the scenes dancing in front of Harry’s eyes, but he restrained himself from reacting, and waited.

“I didn’t grow up with family,” Harry whispered. “I did grow up knowing my parents were dead and my mother’s relatives hated me. When I came into the wizarding world, I realized that I had distant magical relatives, but no one close. My godfather was unfairly imprisoned and never got to act like a real father to me.”

Another deep breath, and Harry turned back to face Tom. “When I stood in front of the Mirror of Erised in my first year, a mirror that shows your heart’s deepest desire, I saw all my relatives around me. Mother and father, grandparents and aunts and uncles. Cousins I never got to know, or maybe they were never born. I _want a family,_ Tom. My own family, not someone else’s who adopted me, even though that was great. I found the Potters. They took me in. They didn’t have to. Jonquil is my cousin in every way that matters.”

Tom stared at him. Harry’s face was flushed with passion, his eyes sparkling so rapidly that they looked as if they were made of metal. Tom felt his own flush start deep inside his belly and work its way up to his face.

He _wanted_ that. That should be _his._ He should be the focus of Harry’s shining eyes, his spinning thoughts, his devotion and desire and loyalty.

And saying so, or aspiring to Jonquil’s place, would gain him nothing.

Tom nodded as though he understood everything Harry was saying. "And this place can only be filled by blood family?"

Harry eyed him as though he was about to charge. "Of course not. But that's what I never had, Tom, and it's what I _want_. Adopted family is great, I said that. Friends are great. But they all have their own blood families. It's not the same, and they realize that."

"What about a lover?"

"I've never had a very steady one before," Harry said, frowning as though he didn't see how the question connected to his own words. "A few months was all one lasted before they gave up in the glare of the press or had their head turned by the money someone was offering them for a newspaper story. Or betrayed me in other ways."

"You can't believe that I would have my head turned by money from another world, or by your fame."

"I don't believe _that_. But even you got to grow up with your mother, Tom. It might not have been a happy childhood, but you _had_ it. The Tom Riddle in my world never had his parents, because his mother died giving birth to him and he murdered his father later. That was one reason I empathized with him so strongly." Harry reached out to capture his hand and smooth his thumb over Tom's knuckles. "It doesn't mean I loved him. But--it's too hard being an orphan. I traveled between dimensions to find family. Don't ask me to give up the Potters."

Tom swallowed roughly. He could see the truth in Harry's eyes. Harry would squirm at the choice, he would shudder to make it, but if Tom made Harry choose between Tom and the Potters, Harry would never be truly his. He could _say_ he was and he was giving up his sort-of blood family. That wouldn't last.

Tom was determined to be someone who would last in Harry's life. And the only way he could do that was by proving himself the superior choice, not trying to persuade or manipulate Harry.

"You want people who are yours in a way that they aren't your friends'," he said, to make sure he understood.

Harry smiled wistfully. "Yeah. The family who practically adopted me were the Weasleys. Ron and Hermione were my best friends, and I dated Ron's sister Ginny for a while. But--it just wasn't the same. They turned to their parents so _naturally_. They were all bonded by their grief when one of their brothers died. I lost some of my connection with them when Ginny and I broke up for good, because of course Ginny was their daughter and I was just one of their children's friends."

Tom shook his head. "I don't know if I can be everything you need, Harry. I want the portal to remain open so that you can go back to Godric's Hollow and visit the Potters whenever you want to."

"But."

Tom tilted his head, accepting Harry's guess that he was going to push on past the first point. "But I can't sit by and watch you take stupid risks like the one you were prepared to take today for Jonquil."

"I didn't! I held back!"

"You still wanted to remain near the battle, which was a risk that we've already discussed."

Harry narrowed his eyes, but finally nodded. "Honestly, I didn't know if you and the others would treat Jonquil well. That was the main reason I wanted to stay. She deserved to see a friendly face and know someone was happy that she was rescued."

Tom had to bite back a snort, remembering the way Jonquil had reacted when she saw Tom's face instead. "And you deserve protection. You deserve to have someone who places you first before all else."

"Which is you?"

"Yes. That part you said about wanting someone who will just be yours? I can do that, Harry. I grew up with my mother, but I have very little attachment to my birth family. I've looked for someone to be mine above all other people, as well. I'm willing to give that to you if you're willing to extend it to me in return."

Harry's face was incredibly soft as he said, "Thank you, Tom. I--do want the portal to remain open, and I want to send Jonquil home if she'll go."

" _If she'll go_? Of course we're sending her back!"

"Jonquil wants independence from her family badly enough to sneak through a portal into a world she knows nothing about. Do you really think that she'll stay put if we just dump her back in that world? And do you think that we'd necessarily sense her if she crept back through the portal again?"

Tom shook his head. "But what does she _want_?"

Harry gave him a tired smile. "If I remember myself when I was that age? Sometimes defiance is the most important point. The harder we try to just hold her back and nothing else, the more she'll fight."

"Then what do we _do_?" Tom hadn't realized how close he was to whining, mostly because he hadn't realized how close he was to thinking the problem solved once they took Jonquil back from the Order of the Phoenix.

"Let me talk to her. I still have the best chance of getting through to her of anyone else, because I also empathize with her." Harry squeezed Tom's hand and stood up.

"We're not done with this conversation," Tom said, turning on his chair to watch Harry. "Take the water and cheese with you."

Harry scooped them up and rolled his eyes at Tom, but only said, "I don't want to be done with it yet, Tom. I never want to be done with something that concerns you."

And with that, Tom had to be content for now.


	7. A Talk With Jonquil

“You mean to tell me it _was_ only teenage rebellion?”

Harry glanced over his shoulder and narrowed his eyes. Tom was leaning on the wall of the small sitting room where his Knights had deposited Jonquil, his arms folded and his head slowly shaking back and forth. Jonquil was paying more attention to him than she was to the mug of hot chocolate in her hands or to Harry’s questions.

“Yes,” Jonquil whispered. “You don’t understand what it’s like to be rejected by someone you want and stifled by your family.”

Tom leaned forwards. Harry moved a little so that Jonquil would have trouble seeing him, and then gently took his cousin’s hand. “Come on, Jonquil. Tell me more. You came through the portal because you wanted to have adventures and show Tom that you were worth something, right?”

Tom sighed, loudly. Harry cast without thinking about it, swiping his hand towards Tom with a wandless Silencing Charm flying from his fingers. It made the magic whip and rage through him and his teeth tighten to keep from screaming, but it did the job.

“Yes,” Jonquil said, with a small sniffle. She glared at Harry. “And I _didn’t_ ask you to come after me.”

“You should have known I would, though. I’m your family, Jonquil. I love you.”

“Not enough to not take Tom from me.”

Harry shifted his shoulders unhappily. He could explain the truth, that he hadn’t wanted to do it but Tom and his own feelings hadn’t left him much choice, but then he would have to deal with _two_ angry people.

 _Well, angrier,_ Harry amended, as he felt the tip of Tom’s wand touch the middle of his back. He must have reversed the Silencing Charm. Harry ignored the wordless message and said softly, “I’m sorry things worked out that way, Jonquil. But still, how _could_ you think that jumping through a portal into a world you knew nothing about was a good idea?”

“It was the only place I could think of that wasn’t tamed and safe,” Jonquil whispered. Her hands twisted together, and she refused to lift her eyes to meet Harry’s gaze. “The only place that Mum and Grandmother wouldn’t find me right away.”

“They don’t _want_ to stifle you, Jonquil. But they can’t tell you what you should want, either.”

“I don’t want them to! I just want them to step back and stop _hovering_ over my shoulder all the time and thinking they know what’s best for me!” She aimed an accusing glare at Harry.

“And yet,” Tom said, in a voice cold enough that Harry went with the nudging of the wand this time when it moved him away from Jonquil, “you still leap into dangerous situations like a child who _does_ need someone to watch out for them.” His hand closed demandingly on Harry’s elbow and he tucked Harry close to his side, an arm over his shoulders. Harry went with it, but winced when he saw the expression on Jonquil’s face.

“I wouldn’t have had to if you had—”

“What? _Loved you the way I was supposed to?_ ” Tom laughed, and the sound was cruel, flickering around the room like shadows from a fire. “I chose who I want. I’m not going to reverse my decision. Abandon the delusion that I rescued you because I like you or care for you. I rescued you because Harry wouldn’t shut up about it.”

Harry winced again and tried to step away from Tom. Tom closed his hand down hard enough to make Harry’s vision briefly white out from pain, and then hissed in Parseltongue, “ _Not this time, love._ ”

Harry stopped fighting and nodded. He couldn’t afford to do it much right now, anyway, since he was still recovering from using magic with the fluctuation in his power. He turned back to Jonquil.

“I can say the same things in a less mocking tone, but they’ll still be the same things,” he told Jonquil, who was watching them with raw pain on her face. “Coming here didn’t make Tom notice you or like you any better. I insisted that we rescue you. He would have left you to rot with the Order of the Phoenix otherwise.”

“Then you—you did the same thing that Mum and Grandmother are always doing,” Jonquil whispered, sounding strangled. “You came running to save me because you thought I couldn’t handle myself.”

“Yes.”

Jonquil closed her eyes and bowed her head. She might have been crying, but if so, Harry honestly couldn’t tell. Her face was completely hidden, and she sat still instead of shaking with sobs.

Tom drew Harry ruthlessly away, into a side room, and shut the door. Then he said, “What was the reason you cast that Silencing Charm?”

“To make you stop saying hurtful things to Jonquil.”

Tom grabbed his shoulders and slammed Harry into the wall. Harry went with it, rolling a little, and it didn’t hurt as much as it could have. He’d sometimes imagined that he’d use his combat training in circumstances that weren’t fighting, but he’d never imagined that dealing with his lover would be one of them.

“You exhausted yourself when you _knew_ that you shouldn’t have,” Tom snarled softly. His eyes were as dark as the diary shade’s had been when it was telling Harry that it was part of Voldemort. “You did it to spare someone who’s going to take pain from your words anyway, and do it no matter what you say to her.”

“I—”

“If you do that again—”

“What are you going to threaten me with, Tom? I was under the impression that you _didn’t_ want to hurt me.”

“Oh, not you. If you do something like that again, then I’ll flay Jonquil alive with my words.”

Harry froze for a second, then nodded. Tom let him go and stood in front of him, turning his wand around in his hand as if he wanted to feel the different grains of the wood, his eyes a little brighter but just as focused.

“What is it that makes you want to protect her at all costs, Harry?”

“I already told you that.” Harry sighed, and slumped into a chair next to him. His wrist still hurt where Tom had pressed tendon to bone, and his magic rattled and rang around inside his body. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back. “And I’ll stand in your way again if you try to harm her. The thing that matters, Tom, is that I want her to be safe.”

“Then you’ll stop acting as though _you_ don’t matter.”

Harry nodded without opening his eyes. He could understand the nuances without Tom having to make them any clearer. “I want her to decide that she’s going back to her world of her own free will. If we push her through the portal, then she’ll come back the minute we aren’t guarding it, and this time, we won’t know where she is.”

“I could easily compel her to do what we want, and she’ll never guess that it’s not her own idea.”

Harry tensed and his eyes flew open. “I won’t let you do that.”

“You speak as though you would have a choice in the matter.” Tom spoke softly, and he didn’t move away from Harry’s side. Him being that close was a worse threat than any other he could have made.

“I’m asking you not to, then,” Harry said. “There are certain things you can threaten me with, and there are certain things that you can’t. If it gets to the point that my choice is between leaving you and you breaking Jonquil’s mind, then I know which one I’ll choose.”

Tom waited, as though he thought Harry was going to add on to the end of that, although Harry didn’t see any reason to do so. Then Tom nodded and sat back in the chair, his legs sprawling out on the floor. He sighed and said, “I wish that she wasn’t taking up so much of your attention.”

“Treat her the way you have been, and it might be easy to persuade her to go home.”

“Or she might want to stay longer, to prove that we can’t control her, like the stubborn teenager you’ve characterized her as.”

Harry couldn’t think of anything to say to that, and silence fell between them. But he did shift over, after a moment, to put his head on Tom’s shoulder. One of Tom’s hands came up and clasped the back of Harry’s neck, his fingers rubbing gently back and forth. Harry let himself close his eyes and enjoy it.

*

At least his Knights agreed with him that Jonquil Potter was annoying, Tom saw with some relief. He honestly hadn’t been sure that would be the case.

Of course he had to give her a bodyguard, which was another annoying feature. In the end, he left Philip and Shara with Harry and gave Jonquil to Abraxas. That would let Abraxas continue to prove his loyalty the way he wanted to but get him out of Harry’s way and perhaps lessen his jealousy.

Jonquil asked questions and pouted when they weren’t answered; she proclaimed her ambitions and appeared annoyed when the Knights mocked her; she tried to catch Tom’s attention and ended up storming out of the room when he ignored her. Harry looked increasingly desperate to do something to soothe her, but Tom refused to change his own behavior. They’d had a discussion, and Harry knew where he stood. If he wouldn’t let Tom use compulsion or the like on her, then she deserved nothing better.

Harry spent an equally annoying amount of time with Jonquil, trying to help her figure out her ambitions, or speaking about her family and their love of her. Jonquil turned up her nose at that bait, and it was the one trait that Tom liked about her. Harry had yet to understand that someone who _had_ grown up with a loving family couldn’t grasp his desperate longing for one.

Meanwhile, their plans continued apace. The revelations about Dumbledore stirred shock in the Wizengamot and any number of loud speeches about how the Wizengamot members didn’t _personally_ believe them, of course not. But the fact that Dumbledore didn’t reappear to deny them struck a blow. So did the fact that someone tracked down Bagshot and interviewed her, and in between the senile remarks came an even more damning picture of Dumbledore’s liaison with Grindelwald.

Things were falling out as Tom imagined they would, but he remained alert to any move from the Order of the Phoenix. He hardly thought they would sit back and let Tom slander their leader forever.

And on the Tuesday after Jonquil’s rescue, their response came.

*

“But don’t you _want_ to see Dorea again?” Harry was working on Jonquil from that angle, in a back room of Malfoy Manor, where silver and looking glasses surrounded them. “I know she loves you. She was incredibly distressed when she discovered that you’d gone through the portal.”

“Because she thinks of me as a disobedient child and wants to punish me.” Jonquil picked up a delicate blue vase and held it to the light as if she wanted to calculate the value, then sighed and put it down and started roaming again through the shrouded furniture. “Not because she really loves me.”

“You weren’t a child that long ago—”

“I’m an _adult_.”

Harry literally bit his tongue to keep from saying something unfortunate. After all, Tom was a year older than Jonquil, and there was no way that Harry thought of him as a child. He put his hands up. “All right, so you aren’t one. But even if Dorea is angry and locks you in your room for a week when you go back, do you really think that she doesn’t love you?”

“I don’t care.”

Harry rubbed his forehead. At the moment, Jonquil was reminding him of some of his classmates in the Auror training he’d quit, although they’d had more defined ambitions. They would disregard all the warnings about not trying dangerous spells on their own and the like, because of course they knew better. Jonquil might not be casting magic that could injure her soul and body, but she was still trying his patience.

“When you go home—”

“This is my home now!” Jonquil slammed one hand down on what looked like a vanity, although only the mirror above it on the wall was perfectly free of dustcloths. “Why can’t you get that through your thick head, Harry? I came here so that I could make my way in a more dangerous world, one where I can have adventures. You can’t throw me back through the portal because you know that I’ll just return.”

Harry leaned back with his arms folded. He was starting to share some of Tom’s frustration with Jonquil, which was his excuse for what he said next. “You know that Tom’s never going to love you no matter how long you stay here.”

Jonquil jumped, echoed by her dim reflection in the mirror. “That’s not why I’m here! I want to have adventures, I told you.”

“But you chose Tom’s world of all worlds to have them in? Why didn’t you go through the portal to my original world if all that mattered was it being a different place?”

Jonquil raised her head. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand. You grew up in the middle of a war, and that colored your perspective. But your world is too safe. I would have chosen Tom’s even if he didn’t come from here.”

Harry snorted and opened his mouth. The only thing he could remember later was that he was going to give her a dose of reality, but he honestly couldn’t remember what he might have said.

The rooms that contained them shuddered. Jonquil reached out to catch herself against the wall, her eyes wide and her breath coming fast. Harry was on his feet in seconds, his wand whipping out. His magic hadn’t gone through any fluctuations in the last few days, which meant that he was safe—he hoped.

“What was _that_?”

Harry cast one small detection spell that filled the air with shades of violet, and nodded, ignoring the way that his teeth felt as if they wanted to drop out of his mouth. “Someone created an Earthquake Illusion. It’s meant to make people run out of their houses and forget about protecting themselves, but it doesn’t actually damage anything. Just makes people upset and takes them off-guard so the attackers have an advantage.”

“ _Finally_!” Jonquil drew her own wand, which they’d found in a back cupboard of the house the Order of the Phoenix had been using as their headquarters, and ran out of the room. Harry cursed and ran after her.

He ran into Black and Lestrange in the corridor, who immediately took up their positions on either side of him. Harry glared at them in exasperation, but they didn’t twitch or do anything except keep their gazes focused forwards and their strides steady. In the end, Harry had to give up and go with them, or he would have been the childish one.

They stepped into the main drawing room of the Manor and found Abraxas waving his wand in intricate patterns that stitched light over the windows. “Father and Mother are in France right now,” he said shortly when Harry glanced at him. “I have no idea what’s going to happen if they come back and find out the Manor has been damaged.”

“I can help, if you let me go outside—”

“So can I!”

Abraxas raked his eyes over Jonquil in a way that was more insulting than just about any conversation Harry could have had with her, and left him reluctantly appreciating how intensely Abraxas must dislike her. Then the man glanced at Harry. “You know that you can’t cast any powerful magic, on Tom’s orders.”

“I feel fine right now. And if Black and Lestrange go with me outside, then you’re not going to get in trouble, are you?” Harry knew that Tom wasn’t in the house right now; he had gone with a few of the other Knights to investigate a lead who had intimated that they might have information on Dumbledore, for the right price.

“I’ll be in trouble if you get hurt. That’s still true no matter how _fine_ you might feel right now, Potter.”

Harry rolled his eyes and then winced as a flash of white light came from outside. It bounced from the Manor’s wards, but he heard Abraxas curse shakily. Harry nodded. “There’s a circle of them out there, working ritual spells together. Do you want to take the chance that your parents’ house will survive?”

Abraxas shivered a little, then nodded. “All right. But your cousin stays here.”

“You can’t _make_ me—”

Harry tuned Jonquil out and ran outside. The house did shudder around him and once bounce as if it was going to come after its foundations. Black clutched what looked like a Portkey around her wrist and reached for Harry’s hand with her free one.

“Back away or I’ll cut it off,” Harry said without looking at her. Black didn’t try to catch hold of him.

The door from the main part of the house led into a small courtyard that was part of the Manor’s defenses. Ringed by powerful stone walls themselves infused with wards, they would contain any spell or magical weapon that fell into the middle of them. Harry kept his gaze focused on them as he warmed up his wrist.

And yes, here it came, something sharp and spiky spinning through the air like the head of a mace, coming down towards the courtyard. A ritual circle could make something like that powerful enough to burst the wards.

Harry moved forwards, his foot lashing out. That began a spinning circle that made his wand an extension of his arm, and he called out, “ _Repercutio!_ ”

The shield that surged out of his wand rose up above the courtyard like the surface of a Muggle trampoline. The weapon crashed into it and bounced back at an oblique angle. Harry chuckled grimly. He knew it would fall among them and explode the way they’d wanted it to in the middle of the Manor’s wards.

And it did, as proven by the shrieks of agony a few seconds later. But his shield wasn’t in the right place to deflect the second weapon that came falling in right behind those screams.

The world vanished in a white haze of pain.


	8. Pulled Through Space

Tom leaned back, his eyes half-lidded as he watched Burke carefully negotiate with the flustered man who claimed to have information on Dumbledore. As far as Tom could work out, most of it was information they already possessed and had flushed out into the world, but there might be a few kernels of new facts there.

 _Perhaps not worth paying for,_ Tom thought, and looked around in distaste. They had met their supposed witness in front of a small house deep in the Welsh hills. The landscape was pretty enough, Tom supposed, but what he mainly saw was the dirty state of the house’s roof and front door, and how steep the ground around it was. You would have a hard time maneuvering an army here.

“And then he said that he wanted to eradicate all knowledge of Dark Arts from the world…”

Tom’s head snapped around, but not because of the mumbled words. One of the monitoring charms he had cast on Harry was shrieking at him. He stood at once, eyes narrowed, and felt out the careful tangle of invisible threads that tied him to the spell.

“My lord?” someone asked. Tom didn’t care to identify the voice right now. He fell into the half-world that the spell created instead.

Harry was moving, but not as if he was walking. Harry was injured.

Harry was _unconscious._

Tom opened his eyes, and Burke, who had been the one to reach out and touch him, stumbled back, his face going as pale as their witness’s white hair. Tom said, “I am required back at Malfoy Manor,” and twisted on the spot. Two other Knights were coming with him, from what he saw before he Disapparated.

They could do that. They were not necessary, however.

Tom appeared right in front of the Manor’s grounds, and at once saw the hole blasted in the front walls. He took off towards it at a run. Behind him came pounding footsteps and panting breaths and shouts of his name. Tom ignored it all. What mattered was that he could see someone still faintly moving in the rubble of the wall, and it wasn’t someone he recognized.

The panicked movements of the man intensified as Tom reached him; he was trying to get to his feet and drag free his robe, caught under a chunk of marble. Tom paralyzed him with a spell that severed his spine. The man gasped and then began to sob, his hands now frantically working at his legs instead of his robe.

“There was a man here,” Tom said. “Green-eyed, black-haired, he would have been shielding. I want to know where you took him.” The man had the mark of the phoenix on his cheek, which made him more likely to know than otherwise.

“I d-don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Tom shrugged and leaped into the man’s mind, not taking care to make his invasion painless. He saw the memory in the blazing colors of a recent one. The Order had thrown a magical weapon that ricocheted off Harry’s shield and tore open the wall. Then they had poured in, collected Harry, and Apparated him back to—

The crackling static propelled him out of his prisoner’s mind. _Under the Fidelius_ , Tom realized, and spent a moment standing still, his limbs shuddering with the need for violence.

But there was a way past that, although not a way that he usually used, given that it would leave his victim without a mind. Right now, that was at the bottom of his list of worries.

Tom Levitated the stone pinning the man away from his robe. He immediately tried to get up and let out a whimpering howl when he realized that he couldn’t move his legs.

Tom ignored that. “Shara,” he said, and watched out of the corner of his eye as she snapped to attention. Blood from a scrape covered her chin, but he knew that would only make her more attentive to what he wanted. She had her own need for violence, and the fact that she had lost Harry when she was supposed to be watching over him, leashed in her trembling hands. “Guard me and make sure that no one can disturb me for the next minute.”

Shara nodded. Tom turned to face the wizard on the ground. He stopped thrashing and stared at Tom with widening eyes.

“ _Legilimens_ ,” Tom hissed in Parseltongue.

In seconds, he was back in the wizard’s mind and confronting that static. Tom reached out and spoke to it in Parseltongue, not English. “ _Let me inside_.”

The secret’s magic swirled around him, as loud as Muggle drills in his head. It didn’t matter. Tom ripped effortlessly through the barriers, protected as they were by soul magic and a secret originally spoken in English. Snakes had no souls, and Parseltongue was an older language than English.

Then he was within the secret, reading it out of the crumbling, flaking remains of his victim’s mind, which resembled a parchment burning up in a fireplace more than they did anything else.

_The dungeons of the Order of the Phoenix can be found at the last cottage at the end of Gryffindor Street in Godric’s Hollow._

Tom whirled himself out of the man’s mind and spared only a glance at the face of what was now a drooling idiot. “I know where Harry is. Come with me.”

Shara and Philip immediately stepped forwards, while Abraxas came tearing out of the Manor. His face was unnaturally calm. “I’m the one who worried so much about what my parents would say if someone damaged the Manor that I let Potter go into danger,” he said, when Tom glanced at him. “Please let me come, my lord.”

Tom tilted his head. “You are prepared to make up for your mistake?”

“Yes, my lord.”

Tom finally nodded. “Tell me one thing before we leave. Did they also capture Jonquil Potter?”

Abraxas shook his head. “She didn’t get to the battle in time. But she was making so much noise that I Stunned her and locked her in our cellars.”

Tom chuckled. It was less than he would have given her, but at least she would be out of his way for now. “Then come,” he said, and turned to walk again to the edge of the Apparition wards. His mouth filled with anticipation like a snake’s filling with venom.

He looked forward to taking down the Order of the Phoenix. And he looked forward with the same sort of anticipation to _talking_ to Harry.

*

Harry opened his eyes and then flinched away from the brilliance of the light that tried to stab him through the skull. He looked blearily around the room where he appeared to be held. He was experienced enough with being restrained to already know magical ropes were binding him to a chair.

This looked like a cellar, which immediately reminded Harry of the cellars of Malfoy Manor in his own world where he’d been imprisoned during the war. He breathed slowly through the memory, and then looked at the wall immediately in front of him, which was stone and dirt with a low wooden door set into it.

The door opened as he watched it, and a tall man ducked through. He had scraggly grey hair that hung to his shoulders, and weary eyes that looked as green as Harry’s. On his cheek was a brand in the shape of a rising phoenix.

Harry said nothing. The wizard was the one who sat down in another, conjured chair in front of Harry and shook his head. “I wanted the Order people I sent to capture Tom Gaunt. Who are you?”

Harry still said nothing. There was really nothing he wanted to communicate to this wizard, and it wasn’t like he was going to beg for his life or freedom.

The man spent a minute muttering something under his breath that could have been incantations or just swear words, and then sat up. “Well, I suppose that as long as we have you, you can still tell us something about your lord. _Imperio_!”

Harry didn’t bother pretending. He didn’t know the kinds of plausible lies that one of Tom’s Knights might be able to make up, not when he didn’t know enough about this world. He shrugged off the curse, and felt it roll down his head like water. The wizard stood up immediately.

“Who _are_ you?”

Harry kept silent. The wizard prowled around Harry. He wore heavy grey robes that barely swayed when he walked. If it hadn’t been for the fact that he was so open with his expressions, Harry would have been reminded of Lucius Malfoy.

“You know that you could make things easier for yourself by telling me. You could be a valuable hostage. Or someone we could make an offer to so that you would want to join our side instead of staying with the losing one.”

Harry couldn’t help the snort that slipped out of him. The wizard at once tilted his head, and his eyes seemed to spark. “So you don’t think that we’re going to win the war?”

“I don’t see how you can call it a war,” Harry said, and smiled a little when the man’s face twitched. Harry had learned in Auror training to reveal enough to be intriguing if he was captured, so that whoever held him prisoner would have reason to keep him alive, but to also baffle them with statements that didn’t really matter. It threw them off the scent.

“What do you mean by that?”

Harry stoically sat there, through another attempt to cast the Imperius Curse on him, and then through a charm that made him feel as if his hands and feet had suddenly vanished. He’d encountered that one before, and all he had to do was look down and see that his fingers and toes were still there. The wizard pulled his wand back and spent a moment considering.

“I didn’t really want to do this, because of the likelihood of damaging someone I don’t know, but, well. You’re stubborn, and you’re also acting as if you have more knowledge than you should.” The wizard met his eyes and aimed his wand. “ _Legilimens_!”

Harry waited until he could feel the sleek slide of his enemy’s mind into his own, like a silk-covered knife, and then he channeled magic directly at it. That made his body rebound with pain, and he closed his eyes and bit his lips fiercely.

But the wizard screamed, and when Harry opened his eyes again, the man was slumped back against his chair. His face was green, and he was barely breathing. He slowly sat up, but still didn’t open his eyes.

Harry waited. Finally, he got a muzzy glare and a soft, “It would have been _so_ much easier if you had cooperated.”

“I don’t do easy,” Harry said, and this time he had braced himself for the pain as magical flames ignited along his arms, burning the ropes that held him.

The world scrambled in his sight, and he felt as though he had been battering himself against cage bars. But the wizard stumbled back with his mouth open, and Harry rose to his feet and lashed out with wandless force, at the same time casting a Summoning Charm with as much of his will as he could, calling for his wand to come to him.

He dropped to his knees as the fluctuations in his magic rippled through him. The wizard went flying into the stone wall and banged his head, hard, but he wasn’t unconscious yet. He caught Harry with the edge of a Tickling Charm as Harry tried to move out of the way, and Harry fell to the floor. He heard the sheer whistle of his wand traveling towards him, though, and hoped it managed to get through the barriers in the way.

Harry forced the charm to end with another surge of his will, and fought his way to his knees, only to freeze as he felt the tip of the wand press into the back of his skull.

“You’re stronger than I gave you credit for,” the wizard behind him panted. “But that doesn’t mean that I’m going to let you go.” His wand moved so that it was right behind Harry’s ear. “A little pain might make you more susceptible to the Imp—”

The stone walls shook, and dust drifted down from the ceiling. Harry could guess that something powerful had just hit the house, or whatever the building above the cellars was.

The wizard’s wand wavered for a moment.

Harry dived forwards and kicked out with his legs behind him at the same moment. The wizard fell, and Harry raced towards the door he’d used to enter the cellars. Surely it couldn’t be locked—

And it wasn’t, and when he opened it and staggered into the sloping corridor beyond it, his hovering wand nearly jabbed him in the eye. Harry snatched it and continued running. His muscles ached and a slow trickle of blood worked its way down his cheek where something that had fallen from the ceiling had caught him across the face, but so what? The point was that he was getting _out_ of here.

The corridor led out into the main room of a cottage where various phoenix-branded people were running around and yelling. Harry ducked through their spells and past several of them, only raising a Shield Charm to defend himself when he absolutely had to. The house shook again, and Harry wondered if some of Tom’s Knights were here and using the same sort of tactics that the Order had used to make a hole in Malfoy Manor.

The door burst open, and Harry had to pause in the face of the cold wind that billowed into the cottage from its direction. He looked up and found himself freezing, his mouth slightly open.

Tom stood there, his cloak swaying around him, uplifted by the force of his magic. His gaze locked on Harry. In seconds, he was sweeping his wand to the side in front of him, and the same wind seemed to pick up Order members and toss them aside like feathers.

Then Tom was making his way to Harry’s side, casting a curse as he went that hit someone behind Harry and made more warm blood coat his side. Tom shook his head impatiently and cast a charm that made Harry splutter as it bound his arms to his sides. Tom scooped him off his feet with a Lightening Charm.

“What the fuck, Tom—”

Tom turned and faced the Order members. His magic reared up behind him, and although Harry had felt more powerful wills, including his own before he had sacrificed part of his strength to hold the portal, he had never felt something this murderous.

The Order members’ heads began to explode. Their brains hurled themselves out of their cracking skulls and splattered themselves against the walls.

Tom’s wand was moving easily along in his hand, pointing at wizard after wizard. His lips moved, too, as easily, in the same incantation that was killing them. Harry stared for a second, and then lunged forwards and butted his head into Tom’s chin as hard as he could.

“Tom, _stop_!”

Tom didn’t stop, though, until everyone in the room was either dead or had Apparated away. His attack on the house had already destroyed the anti-Apparition wards. He tucked Harry closer to his side and stared into his eyes. “Why did you go outside and try to stop the attackers at the Manor when you could barely use magic?”

Harry swallowed. He kept his head turned away from the sight of the broken wizards on the floor, as cowardly of him as it was. He honestly didn’t want to see what Tom had done to them. “I—I wanted to defend Jonquil, and I wanted to protect Abraxas’s house, and I—”

“Wanted to protect people. I know.” Tom jerked his head at the carnage around them, his eyes burning. “This is what happens when you disobey me, Harry. Are you prepared to put up with it if you get hurt again?”

Harry stared at him. “Are you prepared to put up with the consequence of me leaving you if you get too controlling?”

For an instance, Tom’s arm tightened to the point of suffocation. Then he said, “This is about me saying that you disobeyed me, isn’t it.”

“Yes.” Harry eased back and stood up, and this time, he did make himself face the battlefield, and look into the broken faces of the fallen, and make himself realize that they were dead partially because he had tried to defend Malfoy Manor. “I’m willing to accept that you’ll kill for me, and that it was stupid of me to try and use so much magic when I was in pain. But if you try to make me a slave, then I’ll leave.”

Tom thought about it, cocking his head. Then he nodded. “Fair.”

He might have said something else, but a Stunner blasted past him and hit someone in the chest. Harry glanced over his shoulder and saw Black; then he faced her victim, who was the wizard in grey robes who’d confronted him in the cellar. Apparently he hadn’t been one of Tom’s victims.

“Who is that?” Tom asked.

“I don’t know his name. But he was trying to question me.”

Tom visibly restrained himself. “We need to know more about what they were trying to achieve,” he said, and bound the man with a few strokes of his wand.

“He said something that made me think they were looking for you, and I wasn’t on their list at all,” Harry murmured. “But he was interested in me when I resisted his Imperius Curse and his attempt to break into my mind.”

Tom smiled. It made Harry want to shift himself in front of the bound wizard, but Tom was still holding him and he couldn’t. “He tortured you? How _interesting_.”

“I didn’t say _tortured_ , Tom—”

“It sounded like it,” Tom said, and nodded to Black. She used a spell to scoop up the wizard and maneuver him outside. Tom followed with his arm still wound firmly around Harry, although it had moved to his waist and not his shoulders this time.

Harry kept quiet. He knew Tom was angry, he knew he was wounded, but he was still going to get in the way of Tom interrogating that one wizard all he could.

There was a difference between killing people in the heat of battle, something Harry had been more than guilty of himself, and torturing someone coldly to death.

And if Tom didn’t see the difference, Harry would see it for him.


	9. Opening the Mind

“You were foolish.”

Harry grimaced and nodded. He had been forced to sit still while Lestrange worked over him, healing the injuries he’d received when part of the wall fell on him, and then another Knight had come in and soothed the aftereffects from the spells that his interrogator had cast. “I know. I don’t want that to happen again.”

Tom leaned back. They were in a small sitting room that Tom had claimed for his own. The walls and furniture were all as white as though they were made of solidified snow, but the fireplace Tom had lit threw bloody shadows over that whiteness. “You’re saying that mostly because you don’t want me to torture people to death.”

Harry took a deep breath and met his eyes. “That too. But I hate the feeling that I disappointed you and made you and some of the others risk their lives.”

Tom paused before he reached for a small silver cup of some kind of steaming drink that the Malfoy house-elves had brought. “So that’s the way to make you hold back. The threat to my life and others’.”

Harry sighed. “Yeah, it is. I don’t _like_ making people risk their lives, Tom. I just thought I was likelier to be able to face the Order than most of the Knights.”

“That might have been true once, before you sacrificed some of your power. Now you’re as vulnerable as they are.”

Harry held his gaze. “Not _as_ vulnerable. I still know more battle spells than they do. And I know more tactics, too.”

“Then stay in the back of the fight and advise them. You know, the way a _leader_ should.”

Harry ground his teeth for a second. But his mind kept going back to the exploding skulls, and the way he’d felt when he woke up tied to a chair and hadn’t the least idea of where the Knights were or if they’d been injured trying to defend him, and the look on Tom’s face when he spotted Harry across the room. “Yeah. All right. You’re—right.”

Tom let the steam from the cup he held drift up in front of his face for a full minute before he answered. “So you agree that it’s foolish to risk your life as much as you do?”

“If it was just my life that I was risking, I’d still do it. But there’s yours, and the Knights’, and even Jonquil’s if she does manage to join the battle next time. And the lives of anyone who captures or hurts me.”

“I’m glad you understand.” Tom’s voice deepened to the purring note of satisfaction that he used whenever he thought that he’d won. Harry ignored that as best as he could, too. “Now. Drink the potion that Philip brought for you.”

“He said that it would make me sleep.”

“You need sleep.”

“I want to be awake when you interrogate Jonquil and the man you captured.”

“What makes you think I would interrogate Jonquil?”

Harry stared flatly at him. Tom shook his head. “No, really. She wasn’t captured and has no interesting information.”

“I mean, maybe not interrogate, but you would ask her what the hell she was thinking. And you would ask it with this concerned look that would make her think you cared and she could tell you anything. And then you would flay her verbally.”

“She’s stupid enough to need the flaying, and strong enough to survive it. I could make her _run_ for the portal, Harry, if I unleashed my tongue.”

“And then maybe she would get captured again and tell the Order everything in a fit of resentment. No, Tom. Just leave her alone.” Harry eyed the potion. “And promise me that you’ll save the interrogation of that wizard until I’m awake, again.”

“I promise I’ll save the full interrogation of that wizard until you’re awake again.”

Harry nodded and grabbed the potion, swallowing it and grimacing at the bitter taste that rolled over his tongue. He was putting the vial back on the table when he narrowed his eyes and asked, “What in the world does _full_ mean—”

*

Tom watched as Harry’s head abruptly drooped and his muscles, which still trembled a little as a result of the magical exhaustion and fighting he’d been through, relaxed. He stood up and came around the chair, crouching to touch Harry’s forehead and listen to his breathing. He was as deeply asleep as though he’d drunk a draught meant to knock someone unconscious instead of just a mild sedative.

That, more than anything, spoke to how much effort he’d expended to defend himself and stay alive.

Tom shut his eyes and closed his fingers around Harry’s wrist for a moment, hanging on, listening to the beat of his pulse. Then he nodded and stood. For now, Harry was alive, and he would recover faster with sleep.

And that meant he also couldn’t interfere in the conversation Tom needed to have.

He left the sitting room, quietly locking the door with a charm that none of his Knights were powerful enough to break. The twisting corridors of Malfoy Manor, and more than one staircase, led him to the back bedroom where their prisoner sat. Tom had ordered that he be kept sedated until Tom had finished talking with Harry.

Philip caught his eye as Tom came into the room and dismissed the draping sheet from the bed. “Is Harry all right?”

“He will be.”

“I—I’m sorry that I didn’t manage to stop the Order from taking him, my lord.”

“It won’t happen again,” Tom said, sure of that. Philip might not like Harry that much, but he had failed in the task that Tom had asked of him once. Succeeding next time would be more important than his personal feelings about Harry. Philip nodded fervently, and then cast the spell he’d known Tom would require of him.

Tom watched as the potion left the wizard’s system in a thick ooze of green and white exuded from his pores. The wizard immediately flicked his eyes open. Tom might have thought he was already awake if he hadn’t had a lot of trust in Philip’s potion.

But, whether he’d just awakened or not, Tom would give him credit for nerve. The wizard looked at Tom, then at Philip, and sighed a little. “You know that I’m not going to answer any of your questions,” he said. “I can resist the Imperius, and you won’t break me with torture.”

“And Veritaserum?” Tom asked, smiling. Behind the smile burned his true emotions. He saw Philip take a few careful steps away from him.

The tied-up wizard didn’t have that luxury, but he gave a faint smile back. “I’m afraid that I can resist that, too. It’s a precaution that our Lord insisted on before he trusted us with some of his most important secrets.”

Tom nodded. That didn’t surprise him. Most of the Order of the Phoenix might not refer to Dumbledore as “Lord,” but they would follow him that way, and Tom fully intended to instill some of the same protections in his Knights. For the moment, most of them were too young to have completed the training.

“I suppose that you won’t tell us your name?” he asked, drawing his wand.

“If you tell me what you’re planning on doing with that, since I’ve already told you that you won’t be able to get anything out of me.”

“An old spell from the grimoires of my ancestors. Now, your name?”

The wizard laughed softly, his eyes brightening for a second. It made his face look a little similar to Harry’s, but Tom only had to glance at the phoenix brand on this man’s cheek to remind himself of how different they really were. Harry would never allow someone to mark him like that. “You’re skilled at telling me the truth without offering anything at all. I think I would have liked working with you, if my people had managed to capture you instead of the other one. I’m Quintinus Silvertongue.”

It was an assumed name, of course. Tom only nodded and then slashed his wand forwards, all his concentration narrowing down. He had only read the description of this spell once, and had never performed it. “ _Lingua serpens._ ”

The magic coiled through the air and wrapped around Silvertongue. He only narrowed is eyes a little and said nothing. Tom stepped back, waited to make sure no violent outburst from the prisoner or the magic would follow, and then asked in Parseltongue, “ _Are you aware that this is a language you cannot lie to a native speaker in_?”

“ _What are you talking about—_ ” It only took Silvertongue that long before he realized he wasn’t speaking English, which was mildly impressive. He stared hard at Tom, and a flicker of fear moved behind his eyes before it was gone. “ _My Lord thought there was no one left who spoke Parseltongue_.”

“ _More likely, he kept it from you._ ”

“ _What line did you descend from_?”

“ _Through Gaunt, from Slytherin in the beginning.”_ Tom smiled at Silvertongue. “ _Now. let’s begin, shall we_?”

*

Harry woke slowly, to the motion of someone shaking his shoulder. He opened his eyes and found Malfoy standing above him. He grunted and sat up slowly, shaking away old memories at the same time as he brushed the man’s hand off. Abraxas Malfoy really did look like his son and grandson.

“Tell Tom he cheated with the sleeping potion.”

“He said you would say that.” Malfoy had a cheerful grin when he tried. “And he said that I was only to let you sleep this long because he broke through the resistance of the wizard who kidnapped you and then put him under stasis. He promised that you could be present for the interrogation. Come with me.”

Harry sighed and stood, wobbling. He pretended not to see the arm Malfoy hastily put out to keep him from falling. “At least he waited this long,” he muttered, and walked down the corridor that Malfoy showed him. “What about Jonquil?”

“She’s still Stunned and tied up. Or maybe she’s awake now. I haven’t actually checked on her in a few hours.”

Harry glared at him. “She’s my cousin. I want her free.”

“I know how close you to are to Tom. I’m growing to accept it. But you still can’t just march in and give orders like that and expect them to be obeyed. Especially since _I_ know for a fact that Tom still wants her confined.”

Harry redoubled the glare, but it didn’t seem to help. He growled under his breath. Then he stomped down the corridor. Malfoy continued to walk beside him with a faint, unimpressed smile.

When Harry marched into the interrogation room, he noticed the faint smell of dust in the air, and the blood on the floor. He glared at Tom for that, too, but Tom only nodded to the man slumped over on the chair and spoke in Parseltongue. “ _I used a spell that replaced his knowledge of English with knowledge of Parseltongue. Then I cut him to draw his blood and complete the spell, and put him in stasis until you could come. This interrogation technique really requires two people who are native speakers of the language_.”

 _“Technically, I’m not,_ ” Harry hissed back while looking for the wound that had spilled the blood on the floor. He finally saw the cut in the prisoner’s robes, over the ribs, and turned to stare at Tom.

“ _He hurt you. He’s lucky to be alive at all_ ,” Tom said simply, and then released the man from stasis before Harry could object.

“ _About Jonquil—_ ”

“ _Don’t test me right now, Harry_.”

Harry gritted his teeth and faced the man, who looked a little less composed than he had when he was trying to interrogate Harry. “ _This is Quintinus_ _Silvertongue,”_ Tom said. “ _And he thinks that merely keeping silent can guard his secrets when he’s under this particular spell. He’s adorable._ ”

Silvertongue narrowed his eyes at Tom. Tom grinned in a way that looked more like a snarl, and said, _“What questions do you have for him, Harry_?”

“ _I want to know why he was after you, actually. Is it just the war itself? What’s the more specific purpose that he wants_?”

Harry felt an odd sensation in his hand, as though part of his brain had reached out and clasped a hand extending from Tom’s brain. His gasp was lost in the sound of Silvertongue’s gasp, and the way that he braced his feet against the ground as though he was trying to resist a fall down a steep slope.

“ _Our Lord had become convinced that you were a danger,_ ” Silvertongue said. He was visibly fighting his own mouth, trying to bite his tongue and clench his teeth together. It didn’t work. It was weird and kind of disgusting to watch, Harry had to admit. “ _He did not tell us why, but he wants you stopped. And I know that you were behind the most recent baseless rumors spread about him._ ”

“ _Baseless? How sweet,_ ” Tom cooed. “ _It seems that we captured a loyalist, Harry. Now. I want to know why your ‘Lord’ thinks that it’ll do any good to ban Dark Arts and eradicate the knowledge of Unforgivables from the world. You can cause just as much harm with a simple spell like a cutting hex._ ”

Silvertongue tried to bite his lips this time, but his tongue was already dancing. “ _Isn’t it obvious? When Dark Arts and Unforgivables are gone from the world, then no one can cause as much harm as they can now. Maybe you could kill someone with a cutting hex, but it wouldn’t occur to most people to_ try _.”_

“ _It would always occur to me to try,_ ” Tom said. “ _Now. We recently raided another of your safehouses and rescued a young woman who was held prisoner there. I want to know what you learned from her._ ”

“ _Nothing! She could tell us nothing substantial of the world beyond the portal. And you were the one who killed most of us?_ ” Silvertongue’s face was blank, but his eyes were burning. He watched Tom with the kind of hatred that had once been familiar to Harry. “ _I will remember that._ ”

“ _You shouldn’t have entered the war against me if you didn’t want to die. And neither should your Lord_.”

Silvertongue turned and looked at Harry. “ _I can sense that you’re not as corrupt or as far gone in the Dark Arts,”_ he said, with something that Harry would have thought was calmness an hour ago but now read as desperation. “ _How can you follow someone like this? How can you support someone who uses Dark magic and indulges in torture_?”

Harry stared at him. “ _You were going to torture me and you used an Unforgivable on me! Why would you excuse your own use of it but not Tom’s_?”

Silvertongue seemed to take it as an actual question, even though Harry had meant it mostly rhetorically. His mouth opened, and he looked disgusted with himself as he spat, “ _Our work is done in the name of the greater good. I take the burden on myself to spare my comrades and the innocents of the wizarding world knowledge of it. And someday, I shall have my knowledge removed and my soul cleansed._ ”

Harry sighed. He had thought that would be it. This Dumbledore had twisted the meaning of “the greater good” farther away than his own version would ever have thought to. Or maybe it was just that this time period was closer to when he’d defeated Grindelwald and he had been more like this in the past of Harry’s first world, too.

Tom nodded, apparently not surprised, although his eyes shone with crimson for a moment as if he would have liked to attack Silvertongue. “ _I want a complete list of the Order’s safehouses and the people who are part of it._ ”

“ _We do not hide._ ” Silvertongue made a gesture with his shoulder that Harry thought was meant to indicate the phoenix mark on his cheek, although his hand was bound so tightly at his side that he couldn’t reach up to it. “ _And I cannot tell you the names of all our safe places. They are under the Fidelius_.”

“ _There are ways to crack that,_ ” Tom said, and showed him how.

*

By the time Tom finished, Silvertongue was a shivering wreck in the chair, his head bowed and his hair looking wild instead of simply unkempt. Tom stepped back and studied him for only a second before he switched his gaze to Harry.

Harry had been visibly holding his silence for the last ten minutes that Tom had been extracting the information about the Order of the Phoenix from Silvertongue’s mind. He was staring at the floor now, his face still. Tom reached over and stroked a quick hand down the side of his shoulder. Harry looked up at him.

Tom was reassured by what he saw in Harry’s face. Harry didn’t like what they had done, hated causing this much pain to a fellow human being outside the heat of battle, but he wasn’t about to fly into a sulk and abandon Tom while he thought about it. He accepted that it had to be done.

Tom turned back to Silvertongue. The man lifted his head as if he could feel Tom’s eyes. “ _I hate you_ ,” he whispered. “ _I will destroy you._ ”

Tom smiled. He enjoyed seeing someone who had scorned him for his use of the Dark Arts while using them himself so broken and unmanned. “ _Tell me anything else you can think of that might be useful._ ”

Silvertongue tried to bite his own lips and tongue again, but the answer came out anyway. “ _There is an unclaimed vault of the Slytherin line in Gringotts. My lord told me and a few others about it and enjoined us not to tell anyone else._ ”

And then Silvertongue broke and truly began to weep. Harry looked away. Tom stepped back and waited a little until the man had calmed down, then released the spell and gave Silvertongue his English back.

“I am going to destroy you,” Silvertongue said dully, as if reciting the litany of a god in which he no longer believed. “I will—”

“ _Avada Kedavra_ ,” Tom said, and watched as he died. He glanced up once to see Harry flinching with his whole body.

“I wasn’t going to let him live to carry out his threat,” Tom said quietly, and stood. “It seems that we have a journey to Gringotts to make in the open, and some raids to organize in private.”

Harry was tense as he walked beside Tom. He kept his eyes averted. He flinched again when Tom slung an arm around his shoulders.

But he was there. That was what mattered.


	10. Surprises at Gringotts

“Are you sure that it’s safe for you and Potter to go to Gringotts, my lord? Since it seems that Dumbledore is targeting you specifically.”

“Dumbledore isn’t here,” Tom said, examining his robes in the mirror. He cast a spell that would Vanish any grime or dust that was clinging to them which he hadn’t seen, and watched as a small puff filled the air behind him. Really, it was all very well for the Malfoys to keep rooms full of shrouded furniture that they weren’t using at the moment, but they at least ought to order the house-elves to dust on a rotation. “And the Order has suffered devastating losses in a very short time. I think they are going to be rather busy making sure that their safehouses are actually safe.”

Abraxas hesitated one more time. “And are you going to take the other Potter with you?”

Tom blinked. “Jonquil? Of course not. Why?”

“Only because you told Harry that he should be ready to go at noon, and he’s still in that bedroom we gave her talking to her…”

Tom sighed and strode out of the room he used, navigating the few corridors with ease. Jonquil’s prison wasn’t that far from his own bedroom, and Harry had told him she saw that as a hopeful sign. But in truth, the wards preventing her from moving out of the room were so strong that the distance didn’t matter.

Tom knocked once on the outside of Jonquil’s door before he opened it, the wards sliding down his body like water. Jonquil looked up at him with a smile like sunrise had come again. Tom shook his head at her in irritation and focused on Harry.

“Are you ready to leave, Harry?”

“I wanted a few more minutes’ conversation with my cousin.”

Tom paused. That was a new tone in Harry’s voice, especially since he’d agreed that he’d taken a foolish risk going to face the Order of the Phoenix when they attacked Malfoy Manor. He stood up and planted his fists on his hips, in fact. Tom appreciated the view, but he doubted Harry was doing this to give it to him.

“Did you?” Tom mused. “Well, I suppose you can have them. And then you and I will leave to get to Gringotts on time. It will be respectful to the goblins if we keep the appointment they gave us.”

Jonquil gave him a big, wet-eyed glance. Tom graciously allowed it, and only turned to Harry, who had inclined his head so that his hair was hanging over his eyes. He said softly, “Jonquil, will you at least _think_ about what I told you? What it means to have so many people who love you and want to help you?”

“They want to keep me a child.” Jonquil’s voice was as quiet as Harry’s, and Tom thought she might have sounded dignified if it hadn’t been for the way her chin lifted and her eyes darted over to him. _Still as stubborn as an adder,_ Tom thought. “I want to find my own way in the world.”

“And when you do, you get bound and Stunned and stuffed in cupboards,” Harry snapped. He marched over to Tom. “I give up. Let’s go and make sure that we aren’t late and disrespectful to the goblins.”

Jonquil’s mouth was open a little, but she shut it with a snap when she noticed Tom looking at her and drew her shoulders back proudly. “I want to come with you.”

“You haven’t earned the privilege,” Tom told her coolly, and led Harry out with a hand on his elbow. Harry didn’t object, and he didn’t look back at his cousin.

Tom had to admit he was more pleased than he’d been in days. Well, to himself he did. He saw no profit in making the admission to Harry.

*

Harry paused when he walked through the front door of Gringotts. Of course he should have expected some differences between his Gringotts and Tom’s; this was a different world, and an earlier time period. But somehow he’d thought it would be restricted to things like a slightly different layout in the bank and perhaps more or less people wandering around.

He hadn’t expected the goblins to be the ones mostly walking around, fierce and tall and openly armed, and looking humans in the eye. There were no uniforms or tellers anywhere in sight. Instead, there was a large crystal throne right in the middle of the bank, and a single goblin sat on it, staring fiercely at everyone who filed in through the door. He wore a thick crystal choker around his neck and a band of iron around his waist. A line of wizards and witches stood in front of him, bowing as they approached.

“Different,” Harry breathed.

Tom tilted his head to look at him. “What do you mean?”

Harry wasn’t sure that he wanted to name himself as from another world or what exactly was different in front of the alert goblin guards. He simply shook his head as he and Tom got into the back of the line. “The bank I know is set up differently from this.”

He got the raised eyebrow that meant Tom didn’t completely believe him, but Harry had sort of accepted that he couldn’t lie to a Legilimens. He kept his eyes mostly to the front, but let them dart around a little, as they neared the throne.

It actually didn’t take as long as he’d thought it would once he saw the length of the line. The goblin king waved his hand dismissively at most of the people, and other goblins sprang forwards and either led them into the back of the bank or ejected them out the door. The ejected ones looked warily at the sharp goblin axes and other blades, and didn’t protest—much.

A few people spoke to the king in his own language, and received some coins or jewels or, once, what looked like a sheathed sword directly from goblin hands. Harry wasn’t sure what the difference was, other than their knowledge of Gobbledegook. He hoped Tom spoke it. He sure as hell didn’t.

Only when they were close to the crystal throne did Harry start thinking something was off. He blinked up and then back down at the floor, and tried not to blush as he did so. He’d thought the goblin king had on some kind of weird armor that only encircled part of the front of his chest, and drooped down a little at the same time.

Now he realized. That wasn’t armor. Those were _breasts_. The king wasn’t.

“Is this the goblin queen?” he murmured to Tom, during a particularly loud interchange between a witch and the goblins.

Tom shot him a puzzled glance. “Of course. Well, the local queen. There’s a grander one who rules somewhere far away. Why?”

“I—never mind,” Harry said. He was glancing at the other goblins and noting more and more breasts, and deciding that either this was yet another difference from his world, or that he’d simply never paid enough attention to goblin anatomy before. Both were kind of disturbing to contemplate.

At last it was Tom’s turn. He stepped forwards and bowed and did speak in Gobbledegook, thank Merlin. Harry watched, and the queen spoke back, then nodded a little and waved another of the goblin women forwards. They were to be led into the back of the bank, it seemed, probably because Tom would need to fill out some kind of paperwork to claim Slytherin’s property.

Harry straightened up and started to follow Tom, only to freeze when the queen snarled something at him. He stood still and glanced over his shoulder, shaking his head when he saw how intently her eyes were fixed on him.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I don’t speak your language.”

The queen switched to English without a blink. “I want to know where you got that.”

Harry looked down, wondering if he had somehow walked out of Malfoy Manor with a goblin-forged blade or the like. Then he realized that the queen was gesturing at his face. He raised his hand, watching her. She nodded when his fingers stopped near his eyes.

“I’ve—always had them?” Harry wished he had a mirror, or could conjure one, so that he could look and see if he had somehow got a tattoo or the like without noticing.

The queen snapped something at one of the other goblins, and she hurried over. She had a sword in her hands, the blade pressing against Harry’s chest as she leaned up to stare into his face. Harry kept still, even though he was increasingly wishing that he’d waited outside the bank, or hadn’t come with Tom at all.

“Your eyes,” Tom said softly as he listened to the queen issuing some orders. They made the two nearest goblins to the throne turn and race into the darkness. Unfortunately, they didn’t do a thing about the sword still pressing against Harry’s chest and almost cutting his throat. “They think something’s important or special about the color of your eyes.”

Harry sighed. “Yeah, I get that a lot.” At least someone probably wasn’t going to come up to him in this world and start declaiming about how he had his mother’s eyes.

Tom glanced at him. “And you have no idea what it could be?”

Harry snorted. “How? You said that you don’t know anyone of my bloodline here, and—”

The goblin with the sword moved abruptly backwards, and the queen gestured with a hand that had a glittering crystal ring on it. Something that Harry hoped was an honor guard and not just a guard, a whole circle of goblins, came up and surrounded him and Tom, leading them back into the shadows.

“Do you think you’ll still get to claim your vault?” Harry muttered out of the corner of his mouth to Tom.

“I almost don’t care. This is much more exciting.”

Harry shoved his hands into his pockets, although he took them out again when the goblins glanced at him, since he didn’t want them to think he had some sort of hidden weapon. “Did you know that sometimes you and Jonquil sound a lot alike?”

Well, that got him glared at all the way to the cavern-like room where they eventually ended up.

*

Tom was still boiling at the insult as he sat down next to Harry in an elaborately carved chair in front of an immense stone. “Take that back,” he hissed at Harry.

Harry beamed at him, and said nothing.

They didn’t have to wait for very long before the stone cracked open and a shallow door opened, displaying a tunnel that appeared to dive into the floor. Tom was at least satisfied to see that made Harry’s mouth hang open, but it also puzzled him. It sounded like the Gringotts in Harry’s first world was _very_ different.

And what could have caused that particular difference? Tom couldn’t think of any turning moment in goblin history that would have altered things so radically.

The goblin who came out of the door was a high-ranking female. Tom could tell because of how restrained her jewelry was, consisting mostly of small crystals sparking on a golden torque around her throat. Crystals such as those weren’t technically rare, but not many of them could take such high levels of polishing and faceting as the goblins wanted them to have, which meant the more you had, the more powerful you were.

This goblin sat down in front of them at a marble desk that grew abruptly out of the ground, and regarded them steadily for a moment. Then she turned to Tom. “You are the only human here who speaks Gobbledegook?” she asked in that language.

Tom nodded. “My companion is from another world and doesn’t speak it at all.” He didn’t see the harm in telling them Harry was from another world. At this point, they must at least suspect it, or they would have found someone of his apparent lineage before now.

Not that Tom knew what was so special about Harry’s green eyes, which was another reason for telling the goblins the truth. He was as curious as Harry, and less scrupulous about his ways of fulfilling that curiosity.

The goblin hissed in a way that resembled Parseltongue but didn’t cross the border into it. “That explains it.”

“The way that Her Blood recognized him?”

The goblin noted and opened a shallow iron box that she’d been carrying. “This is the key to the vault held in the Slytherin name for ten centuries. Do _not_ lose it, Mr. Gaunt.” Her eyes sparked like the crystals. “We will know.”

Tom accepted the key, a tiny golden thing that shone like her crystals. He nodded and tucked it away into his pocket.

“Now,” the goblin said, leaning forwards intently and switching back to English. “What name do you go by?”

Harry didn’t seem disconcerted by her abrupt manner. Maybe that was something he was familiar with from whatever goblins he’d known in his own world. “Harry Potter.”

The goblin paused. “Here, the Potter name died out four centuries ago.”

Harry nodded. “I know that my companion said he’d never heard of it,” he murmured. “Is there something that my ancestors left here, or a grudge that you wish to settle with me because of them?”

Harry’s voice was completely calm, and his attention completely focused on the goblin. Tom had to admit, in the silence of his own head, that he was impressed. Harry was ready to move at any second. Anyone looking at him would never have believed that he was actually suffering from the fluctuations in his magic that he was.

Tom touched his key and then his wand. _And as long as I am here, he will not need to defend himself._

“There is an artifact,” said the goblin. She tapped her nails on the edge of the desk for a moment. “It can only be worn by a true Potter. It will kill anyone else who tries.”

Harry shrugged. “I’m not a true Potter in the sense of the word that would have mattered in this world. I’m not really related to them.”

The goblin pointed an accusing finger. “But the Potters in this world all had those green eyes, and _no one else has them._ ”

Harry blinked at her in silence. Tom raised his own eyebrows. From what he knew, in Harry’s world, his green eyes had come from his mother, not from any Potter.

And Harry said the same thing now, shaking his head when the goblin glared at him. “It’s an amazing coincidence that the Potters here did have green eyes, but I’ve found the circumstances bend towards something like coincidence when I travel between worlds. I’m not willing to try and touch this artifact.”

“I am bringing it out.”

The goblin disappeared into the back of the bank. Harry rolled his eyes in what looked like exasperation and glanced at Tom. “What am I supposed to do when she brings it to me? If I can’t wear it without dying—”

“The Potters in your second world accepted you as blood family despite the fact that you’d not been born there. You think of Jonquil the same way.”

“What does that have to do with a lack of Potters in _your_ world?”

“It means,” murmured Tom, his ears cocked to the argument that was happening in the shadows, “that the artifact might accept you anyway. It’s probably tired of being ignored and locked away. I imagine that it would prefer to be worn.”

“And I should risk my life for that? _You’re_ the one who’s always arguing that I take too many risks—”

The goblin who had helped them before marched back into sight, holding the oddest diadem Tom had ever seen. It had a blue jewel on the front, and he might actually have thought it was Ravenclaw’s lost diadem, if it hadn’t been for the overlapping scales of green metal it appeared to be made of. The goblin dropped the diadem on the desk in front of Harry and looked at him expectantly.

“It’s humming,” she explained, when Harry just stared back at her. “That means it likes you.”

“It means that it might be eager to test me,” Harry retorted flatly. “That doesn’t _actually mean_ that it’ll let me wear it!”

“Gringotts is tired of holding the Potter Diadem in custody.” The goblin nudged it towards him. “Wear it.”

“I’m tired of risking my life,” Harry said, with a quick glance at Tom. He nudged the diadem back across the desk. “Keep it.”

The goblin looked on the verge of stomping her foot on the floor, something Tom had never seen, but then, life with Harry was always full of surprises. “ _Wear it._ Please.” It sounded as though she had gargled with gravel to speak the last words. “We don’t want it anymore! It sends magic throughout our bank that weakens the foundation and makes the walls tremble.”

Tom felt his eyebrows rise. “Maybe you should—” he started to say.

And the diadem rose off the desk and shot towards Harry, binding to his forehead. Harry gasped and reached up a hand that stopped a centimeter or two away from the diadem’s green scales. For a second, Harry swayed back and forth dangerously.

And then he collapsed.


	11. The Diadem

Harry looked around the white space that resembled King’s Cross, rolled his eyes, and sat down heavily on the stone wall that had appeared right behind him. “Who is it going to be?” he asked the motionless air. “Dumbledore again? I’m not feeling that congenial towards him right now, just so you know.”

The heavy air stirred, and then something landed in front of him. Harry appraised it cautiously. It looked almost like Norberta had when she was a baby, big and clumsy with hunched wings and crooked legs.

But it lifted its head, and the bright golden eyes that fixed on him were intelligent. The dragon prowled a step or two towards him, then stopped as if it wanted to watch what he would do.

“All right,” Harry said, when a few minutes had passed without either of them blinking and the dragon continued to stare. “Was I supposed to run away? Salute? What?”

The dragon came up and circled him. Apparently the stone wall Harry was sitting on didn’t extend a large distance in either direction. Harry propped his chin on his fist and watched. He doubted the dragon would find whatever it was looking for without talking to him, but then, he was surprised the diadem had managed to establish a connection at all. Potter blood _shouldn’t_ hold across a distance of worlds like this.

Especially if the Potters had been different enough to have the green eyes that had belonged to Harry’s mum in his first world, and to leave mysterious artifacts behind in Gringotts.

Finally the dragon sat up on its haunches in front of him and closed its eyes. A bright circlet of white light appeared on its forehead, in the approximate shape of the diadem the goblins had shown Harry. A small voice emerged out of it. “Are you the one we’ve been waiting for?”

“I doubt it.”

“But you _are_ a Potter.”

“Yes, I was born with that name in my own world,” Harry answered simply. “But my mother was Muggleborn there, and she’s the reason I have these eyes. I didn’t inherit them from my Potter ancestors, and I know nothing about a diadem.”

A sharp hiss emerged from the dragon’s throat. The band of light that was the diadem shone brighter as if to calm it. Then it said, with a tone that Harry couldn’t read in it, “You are a half-blood?”

“Yeah. If we’re going to look at ridiculous notions of blood purity, then I reckon I am.”

Silence. Harry waited for the dragon or the diadem to say something else, or the white vision to change to a train. Or, hell, maybe he was going to see Dumbledore in front of him and have the man tell him that he’d been dreaming since the Forbidden Forest. With the way Harry felt now, he was prepared for almost anything to happen.

The dragon took a cautious step nearer, and the front of the diadem blazed in the position that would hold the blue gem on the real thing. The voice was a bit more confident this time. “And you were once a Horcrux.”

Harry jerked before he could stop himself. Then he reminded himself that Tom knew, and hadn’t despised him for it, and there was no one else in this world whose opinion he cared about. Although he might not want the goblins and the Knights of Walpurgis possessing that information. He bared his teeth. “You going to do something about it?”

“It makes you a most suitable host for the diadem.”

“If you’re going to tell me that one of those distant Potters made a Horcrux and this is my chance to bring them back to life, I should warn you that I can control Fiendfyre. And I have a friend who might have a basilisk fang.”

“No. It makes you a suitable host for the diadem because you have already coped with overwhelming magic and come out the victor. You could wear the diadem and not be tempted by the power. Or overwhelmed by the memories of the Potter ancestors who live within it.”

Harry drew a shaky breath. The temptation was stronger than he’d thought it would be. After all, what had he left his first world seeking but a family? And to have the memories of dozens of Potters here, without the heartbreak of recent generations...

But a second later, he shook his head. “I’m still not the descendant you were waiting for. There must be one in this dimension who’s fit to wear it.”

“There is not. I have searched. The goblins have searched. They tired of hosting me long ago, and they have all the money they need to conduct investigations into wizarding genealogies. They have not found someone.”

Harry raised his eyebrows a little. “Then I suppose that you’ll have to lie in the bank unclaimed.” He turned around and studied the white place again. He couldn’t see any differentiation in the walls that would show him an entranceway to somewhere else, which he assumed meant he could just start walking in any direction he wanted. He took a step forwards.

The dragon darted around in front of him and lifted its head higher. The gem blazed and coruscated in a way that made Harry have to hide his eyes. “Could you stop it with the light show?” he asked. “I’m not going to be dazzled into putting you on because you decide to do that.”

“You are the most suitable candidate I have found in years of searching. You have the name and you have the eyes that once indicated the Potter bloodline in this world, even if they have come from other directions and another dimension. I want you to wear me.”

“It’s nice to know that I have your vote of confidence. But no.”

“What are you so afraid of? The Potters I knew were in Gryffindor House, every one of them, and none of them hesitated to use the power that I carry for the good of their family. Are you so unlike them?”

“I know the kinds of prices that magical artifacts like you exact. And the goblin who showed me to you was pretty clear. Only someone of Potter _blood_ can wear it. That doesn’t mean someone from another dimension who happened to be born instead of the Potters who might have existed here.”

The dragon was still for a moment, and the light in the diadem died away. Then it said, “You have not even heard what I offer yet.”

“So do you admit there is a price, and that you would make me pay for wearing you.” Harry rolled his eyes. “Let me hear about the price _first_. Then you can do your best to tempt me into putting you on.”

“You are a most distrustful young man.”

“Survival’s demanded it,” Harry responded, and then leaned back against the wall and folded his arms. The diadem might not let him out of here unless he agreed to put it on, but on the other hand, he wouldn’t agree to bond with it unless it offered him something truly spectacular.

The diadem returned to a soft, pulsating light from the middle of the blue gem, and the dragon craned its neck a little higher as if it wanted to support it. Finally the artifact said, “I offer access to the memories of your Potter ancestors—or the ones that would have been yours if you were born here—as I said before. I also offer you the means to control completely any magic that is in or touching your body.”

Harry narrowed his eyes a little. “So you’re saying that I could gain control of someone else’s wand or an artifact I picked up? Complete control? What about affecting the magic of someone whose hand I was holding?”

“Well done,” the diadem said, after another pause. “None of my other wielders has ever picked up on that so fast, unless advised by an ancestor. But I was thinking that you would be more interested in the power to control your own magic.”

Harry nodded sharply. “It’s attractive. And now let’s hear about the price.”

The diadem loosed a sigh that made it vibrate. Harry wondered a little how it sighed without a mouth, but he wasn’t about to ask. For all he knew, there would be a price for _that_ answer, as well. “You would need to feed me blood. Some of it would be your own, but once a month, I would require the blood of an enemy.”

“How much?”

“You—are not running in horror.”

“Well, it _does_ matter how much.” Harry thought of the vampires he’d known for a few months before deciding to leave his world. Some of them had been murderous bastards who deserved the hunting down the Ministry did, but a few, whom Harry had hidden and helped, could feed on a tiny sip of blood from several victims a night and leave them alive. “Buckets? A handful? Drops?”

The diadem blazed and shimmered to itself in a way that made Harry keep a stern eye on it. He was sure that it would twist the terms of the bargain if it could. It might not even be able to help itself, when it was supposed to be worn by a true Potter born in this world and he wasn’t one.

“Drops,” the diadem finally said. “If you feed me at least two palmfuls of your blood every full moon.”

Harry’s first thought was that Tom wouldn’t like that. His second thought was that Tom would probably consider it worth the price, if it gave Harry back the control over his fluctuating magic. And his third thought was that he should stop concentrating so much on what Tom thought. He nodded and fixed his gaze on the diadem. “Could you restore the control I used to have over my magic?”

There was another long silence in which the diadem and the dragon seemed to be examining him together, probably seeing what he meant in the same way that they’d managed to see he used to be a Horcrux. Then the dragon inclined its head at the same moment as the diadem said, “Yes. But you would never again have the torrent of magic that you used to.”

“That’s not what I want. I just want the _control_.”

“Yes. I can give you that.”

“Is there any other price for wearing you than the blood that I need to feed you? Be truthful.”

“No,” the diadem said. “There was magic woven into me to prevent any Potter from wearing me, but I can suppress that. And I’ve spent so much desperate time lying in the bank and waiting for someone to wear me again that I would be willing to do a lot more.”

“If I find out that you’ve lied to me, I won’t hesitate to destroy you, and I don’t care what it might do to my control over my magic.”

“I haven’t lied. I meant it when I said I was desperate.” The dragon edged towards Harry, holding out the diadem in its teeth now instead of on its head. “I wouldn’t have created this place and drawn on your memories if I had any other choice. Or confronted you about being a Horcrux.”

Harry nodded his understanding and then reached out to take the diadem. The stone began to burn again the minute he grasped it, but not the blinding light of before. Now it was merely a steady, subdued brilliance, like a fallen star.

The diadem abruptly leaped from the dragon’s mouth to Harry’s hand. At the same moment, the dragon vanished, and so did the white walls of King’s Cross, and everything else that Harry had been leaning against or depending on.

For a moment, he tumbled through a bright void, and wondered if the diadem had lied to him after all, and it was simply destroying him in a less obvious way.

Then he landed, and the world flickered.

*

Tom was holding his wand to the throat of the goblin who had given Harry the diadem, and other goblins had throwing axes and the like trained on him. That much he knew behind the bright pounding of red at the edges of his vision, but he didn’t much care. He was too aware of Harry lying motionless behind him with the diadem clasped to his forehead and a line of blood, like one made by gnawing teeth, all along the front of his brow.

“What did you do to him?” he whispered to the goblin who had given Harry the diadem, and his wand caressed her throat like a lover.

“It was only the diadem’s fault! I didn’t mean him any harm! Why would I? I’ve never even seen him before!”

The goblin sounded more alarmed than her sisters looked, but then again, she was the only one who was close enough to actually see into his eyes. Tom shifted closer and smiled at her. The goblin squeaked in terror.

“If he dies, then I promise I will scatter the bones of your body,” Tom murmured. He knew just enough about goblin burial customs to realize what a dire threat that was. Her eyes widened in such a _satisfying_ way. “I will drop them in water and toss them into the wind. I will burn them and scatter the ashes. I’ll feed your skull to hyenas. I—”

“Do you have to threaten _everyone_ we come across, Tom?”

Tom turned in an instant, his heart singing hard in his ears. Harry was sitting up on the floor, the diadem firmly fastened around his brow. It half-hid the scar that had marked him as the other Voldemort’s Horcrux, but the line of blood where the diadem had chewed on him seemed to be gone entirely. He smiled as he extended his hand to Tom.

Tom seized his hand and pulled Harry to his feet, gazing into his eyes while he moved the diadem back a little. It seemed to him that it clung to Harry’s skin and refused to move for a moment. Then it tilted, and Harry was smiling at him still, bright and fierce and—

Tom kissed him.

Harry went still against him, then reached up and gently pushed Tom back. He nodded at the goblins around them and murmured, “Later, perhaps?”

“I don’t care who knows that I have a claim on you.” Tom tightened his hold. “And I hadn’t thought it would be the sort of thing you would care about, either,” he had to add. Knowing that Harry did made a sharp burn start in the center of his chest.

“I only care that they’d holding _axes_ and _swords_ and pointing them at us,” Harry muttered back, then turned to face the goblins. “Look, the Potter diadem found a new owner, and Tom still has a vault to claim. So can we put down the blades and back away slowly?”

There was a long silence. The goblin who Tom had been threatening stood there and glared and obviously wouldn’t help them. Then the goblins nodded at each other, and Tom caught a quick buzz of words about “wouldn’t help.” They lowered their weapons.

“Thank you,” Harry said, with a small smile that obviously had more power than he knew. Tom knew enough to be respectful of goblins, but he didn’t treat them with the kind of casual politeness that Harry did. Harry faced him again and switched into Parseltongue. “ _The diadem gives me control of any magic that’s in or touching my body. That includes stabilizing control over my magic when it fluctuates._ ”

“ _And the wands you might hold? The magic of anyone touching you_?”

Harry smiled at him fondly and reached up to trace the curve of his cheek with one finger. “ _Yes_.”

Tom half-closed his eyes. He hadn’t known what a relief it would be to know that he didn’t need to fear for Harry anymore, like bathing in cool water, until it arrived. And he much preferred this confident Harry smiling at him now to the one who had looked away from him and cringed when Tom did what was necessary to protect them.

“And Tom.”

Tom turned his head gently, because that sounded as if Harry was about to do something objectionable. Harry’s eyes were narrowed, his body leaning forwards and poised on his toes.

“ _If you try to do something again like reading someone’s mind by force and then executing them?”_ Harry’s smile was still soft, but it had a brutal edge this time. “ _Just keep in mind what I can do now that I have my full power back under my control._ ”

“ _I wouldn’t expect you to react any other way,”_ Tom said simply.

This appeared, entertainingly, to confuse Harry. He kept a cautious eye on Tom as they proceeded into the back of the bank where his vault was.

Tom smiled to himself. He appreciated the challenge even as he would fight to contain it. He could like the way Harry seemed to be returning to himself even as he deprecated how it meant Harry would disrupt his control.

He wanted _Harry_. Not a pale, pastel version of him.

There was nothing better in any world.


	12. Confronting the Order

Tom’s hand shot out and pressed against Harry’s chest as they were about to leave Gringotts. Harry gave him an exasperated glance, but then the diadem pulsed on his forehead and he felt the odd sensation of taking wing.

For a moment, he seemed to be a hawk, swooping above the bank and around in a circle. His eyes locked on the threat, the prey. There were several wizards and witches with a phoenix brand on their cheeks moving down Diagon Alley. Ordinary wizards avoided them and averted their eyes.

“Dumbledore’s people coming,” Harry murmured, opening his own eyes.

Tom stared at him.

“The diadem let me see them from above,” Harry said. He didn’t know for sure how that worked, and it wasn’t a specific power that the diadem had mentioned. As much as he could, he glared at his own forehead. Was he always going to have something there that would give him weird, unexpected powers?

After a moment, Tom nodded slowly. “Very well. I sensed their magic, but I couldn’t tell where they were coming from or how many there are.”

“Six,” Harry said quietly. “Moving openly. But then again, you said they were Dumbledore’s Aurors. Everyone else in Diagon Alley is desperately trying to pretend they didn’t see them.”

Tom tilted his head. “I didn’t want to declare myself openly yet. I wanted to spread more rumors to discredit Dumbledore and keep my own name out of it,” he murmured, drawing his wand.

“But you intend to declare yourself now?”

Tom kept his head tilted. “It depends on what else we can do. Can _you_ think of any way out of this? The goblins aren’t going to help us, and announcing that you have that diadem isn’t going to save us trouble.”

Harry closed his eyes and forced his whirling mind to slow down and _think_ , not bolt through different scenarios like a runaway horse. The diadem could help, but Tom was right; then everyone would probably know that someone was opposing the Order. Tom didn’t have any Knights here and couldn’t fight back. A battle would damage Diagon Alley too much anyway. Retreating inside Gringotts was out of the question—

Harry opened his eyes. “The rumors we spread about Dumbledore are our way out of this,” he said, with more conviction than he really felt, walking down the steps of Gringotts rapidly and towards the Order members. The diadem was tracking them with faint thrums, pulses that Harry understood without knowing how he did it. There were seven pulses, so a seventh wizard had probably joined the ones on their way. “We need to do this in public and keep the focus as much on Dumbledore as possible. You did this for the good of the wizarding world, right?”

Tom caught on. “Keep them from making us martyrs, but play the martyr?”

Harry grinned. He wouldn’t have phrased it that way, but that was one reason he liked being with someone who could. “Exactly.”

Tom’s eyes narrowed, cold and precise, but his face was already taking on an expression of deep shock and sorrow. Harry wondered for a second if he had ever seen the real Tom, the one who hid behind all the masks and expressed what he really felt.

Then Tom glanced sideways at him with the shadow of a grin, and Harry firmed up his resolve. Yes, he thought he had. He might be proven wrong someday, but that was always a possibility with every relationship. He reached out a hand. Tom took it.

“Ready to play a part for the good of the wizarding world?” Harry whispered.

“You have no idea how ready, or how much good,” Tom said with another tilt of his head.

*

Tom recognized two of the Order members marching at them down Diagon Alley when he and Harry stepped around the corner. Justin Wrenthorpe was a prominent pure-blood who’d followed Dumbledore since before he went up against Grindelwald. High cheekbones, aquiline nose, stern grey eyes, curling grey hair, he looked as if he was made of stone, and the phoenix brand on his face stood out in equally sharp relief.

The woman who followed him, Helga Gravel, looked nothing like her name. She had warm brown eyes and one of the sweetest smiles that Tom had ever seen. She usually smiled like that in the photographs in newspaper articles when she was explaining why pure-bloods should keep the rights they already had. She wasn’t smiling now.

Wrenthorpe crashed to a halt in front of Tom. His attention was entirely focused on him, while Gravel was the one studying Harry. “What do you have to say for yourself, Mr. Gaunt?”

“On the matter of what?” Tom asked calmly. Harry was right; keeping it to words, and making the Order resort to spells if they were going to, was the better course. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gravel frowning, and knew it was probably at the diadem encircling Harry’s brow.

“On the matter of the rumors you are spreading about our leader.” Wrenthorpe’s hand was tight around his wand, but he knew better than to draw it. Although some of the people who had been in Diagon Alley when Tom arrived with Harry were now out of sight, they had plenty of curious, staring onlookers.

“They aren’t rumors, they’re the truth,” Tom said, and shook his head a little when Wrenthorpe actually drew his wand. “Can you deny that Dumbledore has more pure-bloods than Muggleborns and half-bloods in his service? You yourself are two of them.”

“You didn’t say anything nearly so innocuous!” Gravel commented, switching her attention from Harry to Tom.

“Is it innocuous, though?” Tom continued, lowering his voice a little. “Can you _really_ think that? Supposedly, we need to protect the Muggles and we need to keep wizards and Muggles separate for _their_ sakes. But Dumbledore also surrounds himself with pure-bloods and keeps Muggleborns from achieving high positions in the Ministry—”

“He punishes people who break the Statute of Secrecy!”

“Does it really seem right that the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot should concern himself with every case that arises, though?” Harry asked, his voice exactly the right mixture of thoughtful and cool. “I thought the Aurors handled that kind of thing. Doesn’t the Chief Warlock have more important things to focus on?”

Tom wanted to cackle. He hadn’t taken as much time as he should have to instruct Harry in the political realities of his dimension, given that they seemed to have been dashing from one crisis to another since they’d come here, and it would have been easy for Harry to make a mistake. But he hadn’t.

“Of course he needs to look after us!” Gravel was frowning at the diadem on Harry’s head again, and sounded a little distracted. “It matters that he concerns himself with all the aspects of our society!”

“That just sounds like someone who’s desperate to cling to power, sorry,” Harry said, and he did manage to sound sorry. “And what does not promoting Muggleborns in the Ministry have to do with the Statute of Secrecy?”

“Because they’re the ones most likely to break it because they want to show off magic to their Muggle family and friends.” Wrenthorpe was a little more controlled than Gravel had sounded, but even he was frowning. “There’s no reason to allow them access to information like that in the Department of Mysteries that would do genuine harm if they spilled it.”

“Because of something they _might_ do, they’re facing prejudice?” Harry’s face was setting itself into harsh lines.

“I wouldn’t advise speaking about it to them,” Tom told Harry in a whisper from behind his hand. “They’re both pure-bloods. They see nothing wrong with what Dumbledore is doing.”

“We take enough of a risk letting Muggleborns into our world as it is.” Gravel had decided to live up to her name, her eyes colder than Tom had ever seen them and her wand openly drawn. The other Order members were fanning out behind her, a few meters from battle formation. “And you’re spreading vicious gossip about the one man we can count on to keep our world safe.”

“It’s not vicious gossip. It’s the truth. And given his stated positions on Muggleborns, I don’t know why it’s so hard for you to believe that _he_ once believed in Muggle domination.”

“I wasn’t talking about that! I was talking about the supposed _truth_ that he had an affair with Gellert Grindelwald!”

Tom’s eyes widened a little. Gravel must have thought she’d scored a point, because she smiled. But Tom had glimpsed a much greater opportunity.

“Did you see that?” he asked, glancing around at the crowd that had drifted closer when no one had started flinging spells right away. “Dumbledore’s _branded_ followers care more about his love life than they do his stance on Muggles and Muggleborns. Well, that goes right along with the belief in blood purity, doesn’t it?”

Wrenthorpe launched an abrupt curse at him.

Tom stepped smartly back and to the side. Harry had already lifted a shield to catch the curse, something Tom had known would happen without questioning it. His heart was bounding and stuttering with the passage of offensive magic so near his face, but he was safe. He had lived through this. And he would make the Order live through worse by the time he was done.

“I _know_ you saw that,” he said over his shoulder to the gaping crowd. “Let it be known that the Order of the Phoenix drew their wands first.”

Harry, meanwhile, was lifting other shields, casting with a force and assurance that Tom hadn’t seen from him since they came to this world. The diadem’s blue gem glowed softly. The shields shimmered from the ground like curtains of mist, and surrounded both the crowd and the Order. Harry was going to protect random bystanders from getting hit first, naturally.

Tom tilted an eyebrow at him, and Harry gave him a thin smile in response. Well, Tom hadn’t expected the diadem to increase his self-preservation. That would take a bloody miracle, not just a magical artifact.

Gravel had her wand in a tight-knuckled grip, and was glaring at Harry as if the shields offended her personally. “Remove them, or I remove your head,” she announced.

“Such a shocking threat,” Harry said. “A death threat, no less, when I’ve cast nothing but defensive magic. Is depriving of your ability to hit someone else with offensive magic really worth all that much outrage, madam?”

Gravel hissed a spell that Tom had never heard before, although he knew from the way her mouth moved that it wasn’t Parseltongue. The ground at her feet split abruptly, a gaping pit that spilled under the shields Harry had cast and towards Tom.

Tom had never seen it before, but it was still similar to a prank spell that some of the older Slytherins had used on the younger years at Hogwarts, and he responded to this one as he had to that one. He gestured sharply with his wand, and a smooth bridge of stone bore him into the air above the hole.

Gravel stared at him. Tom raised his eyebrows slowly in response. If she was a blood purist, she would wonder how someone with a Muggle father could cast such impressive magic.

“You are breaking the law,” Wrenthorpe said in a voice shriller than Tom would have advised any of his Knights to use in this situation. “I demand that you put down your wands _at once_.”

“Do I have your word that you won’t cast offensive spells on the crowd of witnesses if we do?”

Tom turned abruptly to Harry, letting the bridge dissolve beneath him and place him back on solid ground. Harry only hitched a shoulder when Tom attempted to catch his eye. His posture was relaxed even though his face looked serious, however, which made Tom relax, too. Harry had a plan other than mindless pacifism.

“We were attempting to arrest two criminals,” Gravel said. “Not hurt anyone else.”

“Ah. Well, that reassures me a little, but not as much as you might believe, given that it _does_ imply that you intended to hurt us.”

One of the other Order members abruptly stepped forwards and spoke through lips flecked with what Tom thought was foam. “Why are we standing here _arguing_ with them? The law is on our side! Arrest them! We’re to bring them before the Wizengamot in an hour’s time!”

And he threw a spell that Harry’s shield deflected into the cobblestones. Most of the crowd scattered, screaming. The other Order members at once began to dismantle Harry’s shields.

Harry flung himself at Gravel. Tom was a second behind him, hissing in exasperation. Even if the diadem _did_ give Harry the power to control someone else’s wand or magic when he was touching them, he was still an incredibly annoying fighter to have in one’s train.

*

Harry didn’t particularly care about killing the Order members, but he did want to take them down. Which meant acting as fast as he could to either disable or knock them unconscious. _Now_.

He grasped the woman’s arm, and felt the diadem pulse on his head. At the same time, blood seemed to rush into his body. Harry gasped. The transfusion of magic was so powerful that he nearly stood there like an idiot and let the man who had been arguing with Tom hit him with a curse.

But in the end, Harry spun around, and the woman traveled with him, her body stiff in protest but still moving. Harry bowed his head and whispered into her ear, “Stun him and bind him.”

She leaped away from him and cast a Stunner that crashed into the man, who went down like a tree. Then she conjured ropes that tied his arms to his side and—

And the sensation of her magic drained from Harry like blood pouring from a wound, and he staggered. Obviously the power the diadem could lend him only lasted a short time after he no longer had contact with that person’s body or wand.

Still, the woman was staggering, so Harry Stunned her in the back and then turned to trace Tom’s path. Tom had already broken the arm of the man who had tried to curse him, and the legs of another Order member, who was groaning on the ground. But the last three Order members had formed a defensive triangle, and their wands flickered in a precise way that said they were used to working together.

Tom had already acquired a cut along his face, and limped slightly from what looked like a wound in his right hip.

Harry narrowed his eyes and snapped his magic forwards through his wand. He couldn’t create as intense an effect as he could have before he used his power to stabilize the portal into Tom’s world, but he could control it much better than he could have even a few hours ago.

The ground beneath the triangle’s feet trembled. The one woman in it went off-balance and screamed in surprise as she suddenly sank to her chest in mud. The other two Order members leaped away from her on instinct.

Harry had pit-traps waiting for them, too. They sank in up to their shoulders, and then Harry sealed the earth around them with another flick. They immediately began to snarl at him like rabid Crups.

Harry turned. Tom had Stunned the two wizards whose limbs he’d broken, and he was looking at Harry with a heat in his eyes that Harry knew all too well.

“Not in public,” Harry muttered, jerking his head at the few witches and wizards who’d either crept back to observe the fight or never left.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to do _that_ in public,” Tom said, with just enough emphasis on the word “that” to leave Harry to wonder what he had intended. “I am simply glad to see that you’ve recovered your fighting spirit.”

Harry nodded and faced the crowd. “Can someone tell me who would be the proper people to call to arrest these Order members?” he asked. “Since some of the Aurors probably serve Dumbledore themselves and might not want to do it.”

The crowd exchanged looks and made Harry want to roll his eyes, although he controlled it for the sake of diplomatic relations. It seemed that things in this dimension were the same as the ones in his first one in one important respect. There were still too few wizards or witches who wanted to stand up to a bully.

Finally, one of the women coughed and muttered, “I don’t think I’ve heard of anyone having trials for Order members at all. You aren’t supposed to _fight back against them_.” She paused as if waiting for Harry to fill in the silence.

Harry sighed and glanced at Tom. He was blank-faced, though, which Harry thought meant he hadn't known that, either.

“Fine.” Harry folded his arms and let his gaze drift from one witness to another. Some of them snapped to attention. Others just cowered. “Then you might as well consider telling the people who’ll talk to you this. We don’t want a leader in charge who’s prejudiced against Muggleborns and who tries to hide his own shameful past behind a veil of rumors and threats. We’re going to fight against him.”

“Who’s ‘we’, though?” someone asked.

“The Knights of Walpurgis.” Tom placed a light hand on Harry’s shoulder, and Harry started. He hadn’t _forgotten_ Tom was there, not really, but he had shifted his perception away from him to concentrate on the potential enemies around them.

“Why that name?”

“Because we actually care about honor,” Tom said. He paused, and Harry watched a few people lean forwards to listen. He held back a chuckle. Tom had charisma when he wanted to use it, a side of himself that Harry never saw when he was interacting with, say, Jonquil.

_Then again, he probably doesn’t want to use it with her._

“And we honor, in our name, the night that blackens the sky for everyone, Muggleborn and Muggle and half-blood and pure-blood alike,” Tom finished, his voice lowering. “But remember, it’s only in the darkness that one can see the stars.”

He let the staring ramp up enough that Harry was sure he was going to make another speech, and then he curled an arm around Harry’s shoulders and Apparated them away.


	13. A Serious Conversation

“Are we sure that we’re ready to confront the public yet, my lord?”

Abraxas’s words sounded nervous, at least to Harry’s ear. But Tom only smiled, lounging back on the high white chair that was one of the few uncovered pieces of furniture in this back room of Malfoy Manor. He’d insisted on Harry sitting on the arm of the chair so that Tom could keep his arm around Harry’s waist.

“Of course we are, Abraxas. Dumbledore’s absence from this dimension won’t last forever. We need to move while we still have a lack of his physical presence. Once he comes back, there are some people who will flock to him no matter what.”

Abraxas’s eyelashes fluttered a little. Then he nodded and stood up, bowing his head. “My lord, while you were gone, Jonquil Potter tried to break out of her room three times.” He darted a glance at Harry that flicked away too fast for Harry to interpret.

Tom opened his mouth. Harry reached out and squeezed his hand, then stood up, even as both Tom and Abraxas studied him suspiciously. “I’ll talk to her.”

“Well, you’ve done that before, and it didn’t do too much good.” Abraxas had kept his voice quiet, a little cautious, since Harry had come back from Gringotts wearing the Potter diadem. He wasn’t the only one. Harry could practically feel the uncertainty in their stares, as they tried to assess him as a threat. “Why would it change now?”

“Because now I’ve seen the quality of the Order of the Phoenix members—”

“Or the lack of it.”

Harry tilted his head to acknowledge Tom’s interruption, but didn’t look away from Abraxas he spoke. “They don’t hesitate to kill. I mean—I knew that, but I thought they would have more caution when they were around the public and someone whose powers they didn’t know. They didn’t. Jonquil is going to get herself killed, not just wounded or sent home, if she persists. And it’s time for me to tell her that.”

Abraxas just nodded and let himself out of the room, unconvinced. Harry looked down at Tom, whose gaze was steady. “I want to come with you.”

“No, Tom.”

“You’ve said before that the only thing that might really send her home is breaking her heart.”

“And now I don’t think that’s effective. You’ve been as cruel as you can to her, Tom, but she’s blinded by love. I was holding back because I _didn’t_ want to be cruel to her. Now I see the truth.”

“That she’s a little girl I could never love and who should never have come here?”

“Yes.”

Tom opened his mouth and then slammed it shut. In seconds, he was on his feet, his arm whipping from around Harry’s waist to curl around his neck instead. “What happened didn’t teach you that much about the Order or about Jonquil,” he breathed into Harry’s ear. “It taught you something about _yourself_.”

“Yes.” Harry swallowed. If he had been with anyone but Tom, he didn’t think he could have admitted this. Even Ron and Hermione might have made him flinch from it, but Tom… “I went to that dimension because I wanted a family so badly. And you know why I did.”

Tom’s eyes flickered the way they sometimes did when Harry mentioned the Dursleys, but he nodded, not looking away. Harry drank in that attention and tried to ignore the twitching in his groin.

“It wasn’t—exactly the way I imagined, even though it took me a long time to admit that. It was great in some respects, but my aunt, or the woman who would have been my aunt, despised me, and I had all these cousins who didn’t even exist in my first world…I realize now that I was trying to make people into what I wanted them to be, instead of appreciating them for who they were.”

Tom’s hand gripped his shoulder hard enough to force a grunt out of Harry. “I’m not going to listen to this if turns into another tirade of self-blame.”

Harry shook his head and managed a smile. “No. It’s more me realizing that I made a mistake.”

With his eyes fastened on Harry’s face, Tom eased back on the grip. Harry took that as permission to continue. “So I just imagined they would put me first, because that was what family did. But I’d only been there a few months and they all had their own complicated relationships and sorrows and lives. So I relied on them too much.”

“And now…”

“Now I want to rely on someone else.” Harry took a deep breath and leaned a little harder into Tom. “Someone who _does_ put me first. Even if the way he does it sometimes puts me off, too.”

Tom’s eyes were radiant with triumph, but he restrained himself to a soft kiss. “I depend on you to put me first, too,” he murmured into Harry’s mouth. “Enough for you to tell me when you think I’m about to go too far and lose you.”

Harry kissed him harder. That was the reason he had felt comfortable enough to tell Tom this in the first place. Because of the diadem, or because he was no longer as worried that Harry was simply going to die of magical fluctuations, Tom was pulling back himself, letting Harry have more room to breathe.

Tom sighed and smoothed his hands down Harry’s robes when he finally stepped back from the kiss. “I still want to watch when you break Jonquil’s heart.”

Harry rolled his eyes as he started down the corridor. “Didn’t you already see enough of that expression when _you_ were the one who was making her feel it?”

“You have no idea how much I despise her, Harry.”

Harry reached out and took Tom’s hand, squeezing it in silence. He was glad that he had finally seen the truth and was going to take a step back to let Jonquil be her own person instead of the family he should care for or who should care for him. Otherwise, there was the distinct possibility that he would have watched his cousin’s death instead of her heartbreak.

*

Tom hung back near the door as Harry walked into the bedroom where Abraxas had been keeping Jonquil. He hated the way her eyes immediately darted towards him and her mouth opened in a little questioning circle. He hated the way that the light fled from them when Harry was the one who reached out to take her hand.

Jonquil didn’t _deserve_ being related to his Harry. If Tom had been in her position, he would have done everything he could to ensure that Harry regarded him as family.

Tom wanted to snort at the thought. Well, perhaps not family, at that. He didn’t want to follow the ways of his Gaunt ancestors that closely.

But he burned inside to see the undeserved, unearned regard that Harry poured over Jonquil like spring rain, and that she wasted as if it was ash.

“I’m going to make you go home now,” Harry said.

Jonquil promptly leaned back and tore her hand away. “You already said that you can’t do that,” she said, and her voice was a little shrill despite her confident words. Tom thought he knew why. Harry’s sad serenity was new. “You know that I’ll turn around and run back through the portal again. You can’t keep me at home without closing the gate.”

“I had hoped you would be an adult about this—”

“I _am_ an adult. I’m going after what I want.” Jonquil bit her lip and turned around to look at Tom, fluttering her eyelashes a little. She was even worse than Shara when _she_ used to flirt with Tom instead of accepting her place in his ranks. “And you can’t deny that Tom pays a lot of attention to me.”

“Looking for weak spots so I can kill you.”

Jonquil pulled back, tucking her hands in to her chest. Harry shot Tom a glance and then looked at his cousin again. “Well, I have options. I didn’t want to do this, because I kept thinking I couldn’t use them without making my family hate me forever. But you know what? Keeping me and Tom and the people here safe is more important. Besides, I already think that you’re probably going to hate me forever.”

Jonquil narrowed her eyes, but muttered, “You can’t do anything to me.”

Harry nodded. “Yes, I can. I could use the Memory Charm on you. I could put a Compulsion Charm on you that would make you keep walking through the portal into your world and never walk towards the gate from the other side again. It might make your life difficult if you had to go into the hills around Godric’s Hollow for any reason, but that’s not my problem.”

“You _wouldn’t_ do that! Grandmama Dorea would never forgive you!”

“At this point, I don’t even know if I’ll see her again. And I can’t live my life in fear of what my family says.”

“Why do you want to get _rid_ of me so badly? I’m a good duelist! You taught me some strong magic! I could help you!”

“Because you don’t have the best quality that a soldier has.”

“What?”

“ _Obedience_.” Harry said it so flatly that for a moment Tom thought he had slipped into Parseltongue, but Jonquil stared at him in what looked like horrified understanding, not blankness. “You just run around doing whatever you want; you don’t really listen to anyone who gives you an order; and you don’t even listen to Tom when he tells you the truth. What do you call a soldier who keeps getting in the way and endangers herself at every turn?”

“What?” Jonquil’s voice sounded parched.

“A liability.”

Tom licked his lips and kept his eyes on Harry as desire pooled in his belly. He would never allow Jonquil to assume that he was looking at _her_ that way.

Jonquil shoved herself away from Harry. “No! I can prove that I’m a help! You always said that I only needed a chance to prove myself—”

“I said that when I thought there was a chance you would still make a decision, and that you wouldn’t hurt anyone except yourself and maybe your family’s feelings.” Harry’s eyes were as hard as the blue jewel in the diadem now. “Now you could hurt lots of other people by dashing away in the middle of a battle or even helping our enemies.”

“I would _never_ do that!”

“Even accidentally? What would have happened if the Order had interrogated you more strongly, and you’d known a little more? Now you _do_ know more, like the location of some of Tom’s safehouses and the names of some of the Knights. And you thought we would just let you go?”

Jonquil’s face was absolutely stunned. Tom blinked. He’d thought he was getting through to her better than this—

And then, _then_ , he understood. His stomach tightened and surged with tension. He might have spoken if Harry hadn’t been there.

Jonquil had never understood. Not really. She had lived a charmed life compared to him, to Harry, even probably to most people in her home dimension. She had never thought he would harm her. She had thought she could coax Tom around. Despite her complaints that her family was trying to keep her a child, she had been one at heart.

Children always believed, in some distant part of themselves, that nothing bad could happen to them. Tom knew the moment when he had started to believe differently, remembered it vividly, and knew that was the moment his childhood had ended.

Harry might be remembering it, too, judging by the grim way he bent his gaze on Jonquil.

“You’d send me back and maybe wipe my memory so that I can’t betray you,” Jonquil whispered.

Harry nodded. “I don’t know why this is such a surprise to you,” he said. Tom knew very well that was a lie, and would have even if he wasn’t a Legilimens, but he didn’t give a sign of it. Not for the world would he reveal that to Jonquil. “I told you again and again that I didn’t want you here, and neither did Tom—”

“But that’s not true! He practically encouraged me to follow him through the portal! Tell him, Tom.”

Tom hadn’t expected to be invited into the conversation. He felt a sharp tingle start under his breastbone. He met Harry’s eyes and smiled a little at the way the lines of his face had tensed.

But Jonquil had asked him a _question_. Surely Harry didn’t want him to leave a _question_ unanswered?

“Any flirting that I did with you was only so that I could remain in Godric’s Hollow without suspicion from your family. I wanted Harry from the first day that I saw him.”

Harry’s mouth tightened, but he said nothing. Jonquil swallowed, loudly. “Why?”

“Well, it has a lot to do with the fact that he’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen,” Tom drawled back. “Not his face by itself, but his power, and his command over that power, and the way that he fought me instead of surrendering to me. I fulfilled the prophecy that led me through the portal, and I didn’t even know it.”

Harry clasped his hands together. Tom reached out and took his hand to still the motion. He wouldn’t have bothered, but he knew the clench was so tight that Harry had to be hurting himself.

“But I could have power. I could have command over that power. And I _wanted_ to come back here with you! You had to talk Harry into it!”

“Yes. And _that_ is what makes him better than you, Potter. Because he fought me and argued with me and made me have to rethink the principles I started from. Why would I want someone who yields to me before I can even voice the desire?”

Jonquil’s eyes were bright with tears, but also with understanding. For the first time, Tom thought the blade of his words had stabbed to her heart, instead of glancing off her pride or self-confidence or whatever it was that was keeping her from understanding the truth.

Harry shifted next to him. Tom turned a steady glance on him. Harry wasn’t going to end his triumph. He _had_ to understand that this was the best way to make things happen.

And Tom didn’t want an argument to start that would keep them from adjourning to a bedroom after this and doing something about the insistent ache in his groin and his appreciation for Harry’s newfound spine.

“You—want me to go back home.”

“Yes,” Harry said. “Because there’s nothing here for you. Tom’s never going to be yours. This war is never going to be yours to fight in. I tried to offer you my love and protection, and you didn’t want either of them.” He tried to smile, although it looked like it was hard when Tom’s hand was resting possessively over his. “I haven’t been a very good older brother, or cousin, or whatever, to you.”

Jonquil bowed her head. “But—you said that I could be anything I wanted. I thought that meant. I thought that included being the lover of a man who desired me.”

“You could be anything you wanted _if you made up your mind_. But you didn’t. You just waited and waited, and I could never tell what you were waiting for.” Harry’s voice had a crack of bitterness in the middle of it. Tom had sometimes had the impression that Dorea Potter had been fed up waiting for her granddaughter to decide on an ambition. It sounded like she had nothing on Harry. “So now the decision’s been made for you. Tom doesn’t want you.”

“Really not,” Tom added, in between one breath of Harry’s and another, so that he wasn’t technically interrupting.

He got a glare anyway, but Harry faced Jonquil and went on instead of snapping at him. “You came here, and no one wants you here. Your family is waiting for you, but you won’t go back to them willingly. Even if you say you will, I’m going to have you swear a magical oath that you will, because I don’t trust you. Your stubbornness has lost you a lot of things. Including my trust.”

Jonquil was crying, but quietly, her head bowed, her hands over her face.

“Will you go with the oath?” Harry asked. “Or do I have to _Obliviate_ you, or cast a Compulsion Charm on you?”

Jonquil had to work hard to stifle her sobbing. Tom shifted impatiently next to Harry. How could _anyone_ have thought she was strong, even her family? He supposed they had been blinded by the potential they had thought was there, not the reality.

Then again, she was a child, still. Tom hadn’t been one for long enough that he wouldn’t know what merit _could_ be found in one of them.

_In so many ways, Harry has been good for me, but I’m not sure about the softening part._

“I’ll take the oath,” Jonquil finally whispered.

Harry nodded, and drew his wand. Tom fell back so that they could see each other, but didn’t let go of Harry’s hand.

Once the oath was finished—and to Tom’s satisfaction, without any loopholes he could think of that would give Jonquil the ability to slip out of it—then he and Harry had an appointment with a bed.


	14. Going Home

Harry finally leaned back in his chair and gave Tom a look. They’d been at breakfast for half an hour, and an owl had flown in twenty minutes ago. Tom had sat there for those twenty minutes, holding the open letter and staring down at it. His breathing was shallow. He looked as if he might expire at any second.

“Tell me.”

Tom started and looked up at him. His mouth immediately became a flat, grim line. He tucked the letter into his pocket. “It’s nothing you need to worry about, Harry. A note from someone who’s concerned about the progress of the war.”

Harry cast a silent spell. Tom tried to stand from his chair a second later, and found himself stuck there. He turned a quiet glare on Harry. Harry had already taken his wand, so he wasn’t concerned. Besides, now he that he control over his magic again, Tom wasn’t powerful enough with wandless spells to break his Sticking Charm.

“You wouldn’t have allowed me to get away with saying just that and nothing else. What makes you think that I would let you?”

“There are times I hate that diadem.”

Harry smiled. That wasn’t another refusal. But Tom did move his eyes from Harry’s face to the kitchen doorway. “Cast another spell so that we can make sure no one is listening in. This is—not knowledge that I’m trying to hide from my Knights, but something that I don’t want them interrupting.”

Harry closed his eyes and let the diadem whisper and pulse to him the way that it had in Diagon Alley when it was tracking the Order members. “No one’s right here. In fact, no one’s in this wing of the Manor.”

Tom nodded, but still spent a moment studying his fingers before he tried to keep his promise. When he finally looked up, Harry was a little stunned at how raw his expression was.

“It’s from my mother,” Tom whispered. “You told me that one of the differences between your world and mine is that my mother didn’t survive to raise me in yours. Well, here she did. And she sent me a letter warning me not to come into the open and cause conflict with Dumbledore.”

“Is she that afraid of him?” Harry asked quietly. He racked his mind for memories of Merope Gaunt. Except for what little he had seen in the Pensieve in his own world, there was truly nothing. She had been poor, nearly a Squib, a Parselmouth, in love with the handsome Tom Riddle, and the mother of Voldemort. He had no idea what she would be like here as a living woman, a—a loving mother? He thought so. Tom knew a lot more about love than Voldemort in his world had ever learned.

Tom curled his fingers around the edge of the table. “She has never agreed with my plans to step forwards and claim a high place.”

“Ah,” Harry offered, to be able to say something.

“She thinks that we _have_ a place, we Gaunts, and that the purity of our blood speaks for itself.” Tom lifted the edge of his lip. “And she’s afraid of what will happen once people become widely conscious that there are still Parselmouths and descendants of Salazar Slytherin in the world.”

“She thinks people who favor Muggleborns will come after you?”

“Not so much that as people who want our supposedly mysterious magic.” Tom’s lip went back down, and he spoke, perfectly neutral, now. “They’ll want our artifacts—which is one locket and one ring, approximately—and our Parseltongue talent—which I didn’t believe, even as a child, they could take from us. My mother is proud of me, but I believe she also rather regrets marrying a Muggle.”

“Not a pure-blood?” was the only thing Harry could guess. Once again, he was working with no knowledge of this Merope. In fact, it was probable his knowledge was going to baffle him dangerously. He was already baffled at the idea that Merope had picked up Morfin’s and Marvolo’s beliefs.

“Yes.” Tom sighed, a sharp sound. “You have to understand, Harry. My uncle and grandfather were at the same time proud that I was so powerful and upset that I had dirty blood. My mother was happy she had produced me, and…”

“Not proud that she had to use love potions to do it?”

“That was similar enough to your world for you to guess, then.” Tom’s hands flexed as if he was about to push himself back from the table, stand up, and pace. Harry was actually surprised he hadn’t done that already. Then again, he supposed that this Tom had better control of himself, in every way, than the one Harry had known. “I was tossed back and forth between those attitudes all the time, Harry. They didn’t physically abuse me. But they abused my mother. And she would pet me and encourage me one day, and then tell me with tears in her eyes the next day that she wanted me to hide and not draw attention to myself.”

“Dumbledore’s is the wrong sort of attention.”

“Yes.” Tom glanced at him. “She also had hopes that, somehow, I would meet and marry a suitable pure-blood bride. Just wandering around on the edges of Little Hangleton, I suppose.” His words lashed out like acid.

Harry accepted the bitterness without moving, without blinking, just leaning forwards a little so that he could catch Tom’s eye. “And she won’t like it that you’ve chosen a man. Who’s not even a pure-blood.”

“I _will_ not give you up.”

Harry nodded, hearing the edges of hissing around those words. If he hadn’t become so used to listening for it, he honestly wouldn’t have known whether Tom had spoken in Parseltongue or English. “I know. I won’t give you up, either. But I can’t stand the look you had on your face when you sat there and stared at that letter. I want to meet your family.”

Tom blinked heavily at him. Then he shook his head. “My uncle and grandfather would try to kill you the moment they saw you.”

“They can tell half-bloods apart from pure-bloods that quickly?”

Tom spoke in Parseltongue. “ _They will never cease to threaten you once they know who you are. If they can’t kill you then, they’ll start hunting you down and they’ll strike at your back when you least expect it._ ”

“ _I know something about surviving unexpected enemies, Tom._ ”

Tom responded with a wordless noise that had the echoes of Parseltongue words in it but nothing definite, and looked as if he might claw the wall next to them apart. “ _Are you even listening to me? It’s not that they’re as dangerous as some of the people you faced, it’s that they’ll never give up and they’ll strike at any time!_ ”

“I know that,” Harry repeated calmly in English. “But that doesn’t mean that I’m going to let them make you look like that, Tom. I _am_ going to confront them and make them pay attention to you as someone who isn’t their toy anymore.”

Tom recoiled, but a second later, stopped the motion with a control that Harry had to admire. He stared at Harry without moving. “ _That’s the way I come across to you when I talk about them?”_ he finally asked.

Harry nodded. “Frankly, I think that you’ve built them up in your mind into monsters—which they are, if they’re abusing you and your mother. And you think they could deprive you of anything they wanted to deprive you of.”

He stepped around the table and reached out to take Tom’s hands. “But you’re stronger than that. You have the loyalty of your Knights, and they aren’t about to abandon you because some wreck of a pure-blood family says so. You have your own magical strength, which must be much greater than theirs.”

He leaned to let his lips hover a centimeter away from Tom’s. Tom’s eyelids drooped as if in anticipation of a kiss. “You have me.”

Tom paused as if he wanted to see what else Harry would say, and then he flung his arms around Harry’s neck and kissed him with abandon, his tongue pushing so deeply into Harry’s mouth that Harry felt his breath stutter.

But then he grinned smugly and hauled Tom against him. Yes, _this_ was more like the Tom he knew. The Tom he was coming to care for, if “love” was too strong a word yet.

*

Tom stared ahead of him at the shack, and then sideways at Harry. Harry just raised his eyebrows and strode up to it, knocking on the door. Tom followed with a silent groan. He knew Harry had been in a version of this place before after seeing Harry’s memories, and they’d disarmed the traps that normally prevented someone from getting close to the front.

It still couldn’t shake Tom’s conviction that something would go wrong in the next few seconds.

Harry knocked briskly on the door, to startled silence from the people within. Then the door flew open and the narrowed eyes of his grandfather met Harry’s. Tom gripped his wand. His mother’s letter had promised that she would be alone when they spoke.

It seemed that the wrong things were about to begin now.

“Who’re yah? Eh?” Marvolo leaned forwards with his fingers twitching, even though it had been years since he lifted a wand. He preferred to brood on the Slytherin artifacts their family owned and disdain offensive magic as beneath a great Parselmouth. Then he turned his head and caught sight of Tom, and his face twisted. “ _What are you doing here, boy_?”

“ _He came here because he needed to speak with his mother,_ ” Harry replied.

Tom had to admit, danger or not, he wanted to laugh aloud at the utter stupefaction on Marvolo’s face when he heard someone not of their family speak Parseltongue.

Marvolo recovered quickly, though, jabbing a finger forwards and shuffling almost out of the house. “ _I don’t know who you are, fancy boy, but you won’t prance around here and tell the descendants of Slytherin what to do!_ ”

“ _I’m a descendant of the Peverells myself,_ ” Harry said, his eyes as brilliant as the gem in the diadem again. To Tom, they all seemed to sparkle with disdain. “ _I have absolutely no desire to tell you to do anything but get the hell out of the way, so Tom can see his mother._ ”

Marvolo reared back and then abruptly dived forwards. Tom yelled a warning. He’d seen that move before, when Marvolo decided that one of the Muggles from the village had wandered too close. He always had a wicked little blade dusted with venom clutched in his fist, which he called the Serpent’s Tooth.

Harry stepped neatly to the side, hooked his ankle behind Marvolo’s, and sent him sprawling to the ground. Then he stepped, hard, on Marvolo’s hand. Tom heard bone crack. Harry bent down and retrieved Serpent’s Tooth from the spasming fingers.

“I’ll take that. Much safer for us all that way.”

“Who’re yah?”

Tom rolled his eyes as he watched Morfin appear in the door. His heart was still pounding like a tympani, but after the way he’d watched Harry handle his grandfather, his shock was running out in strong ripples. He was even starting to enjoy himself.

“ _What’d you do to Fa_?” Morfin was moving over to where Marvolo lay swearing on the ground. Harry turned to keep him under observation, meanwhile flicking his wand and, Tom saw from the motion, getting rid of the poison on the edge of Serpent’s Tooth.

“ _No more than he tried to do to me,_ ” Harry replied, and Morfin must not have heard the conversation from wherever he’d been in the house, either, given that he tried to leap a mile at the sound of Parseltongue.

“ _Who’re yah_?”

Tom stepped in then, because the repetition was becoming ridiculous. “ _His name is Harry Potter._ ”

“ _Impossible,”_ said his mother from her turn, apparently, in the doorway. “ _The Potter family died out centuries ago._ ”

Tom felt a lick, a shiver of the strangeness she always evoked in him, as he turned to face her. “ _Mother_.”

Merope Gaunt would never be beautiful, and that fact had bothered Tom when he was a child, along with the fact that she allowed Morfin and Marvolo to push her around. Now he saw the strength that had always waited at the bottom of her eyes, steel that only showed up when someone outside the family was trying to abuse Tom, or she thought he was doing something dangerous. She kept her gaze fastened on him now, ignoring Harry. Then she beckoned to him and turned and walked inside.

Tom held out his hand to Harry, ignoring the way that Marvolo almost reflexively jeered. Harry looked into his eyes, nodded, and let Tom draw him inside.

*

The inside of the shack was larger than Harry remembered, with two more rooms that looked as if they had been added on to the body of the main building some time ago. He saw a bed through one open door, but Merope saw him looking and went over to shut it. Harry squinted at the underside of her sleeve, but didn’t see a wand strapped to her arm.

She turned and saw him looking. “My son not enough for you?”

“ _Mother_ ,” Tom hissed, but Merope only kept watching Harry. Harry inclined his head slowly to her. She darted her gaze up to the diadem for one minute, but she seemed to have already decided his face was the dangerous part of him and kept her eyes there instead.

Harry only replied, “ _I would do anything for Tom. As for why I’m a Potter when the family died here, I’m from another world._ ”

“ _So you were the one who filled Tom’s head with the notion that he could fight Dumbledore and win_?”

“ _I always wanted to do that.”_ Tom was standing restlessly next to a chair missing one arm, drumming his fingers on the back of it. Harry saw him glance at the broken place and then away. As suddenly as if he had seen it in a vision, Harry knew that Tom had offered to repair the furniture in the past and it hadn’t been accepted. “ _I always intended to take a position of power, and damn the man who thought only pure-bloods are powerful._ ”

“It is more dangerous than you can possibly know,” Merope said in English. “So you must be the man who Tom went in search of, the one who can be his weapon.”

Harry said nothing, but shrugged. Tom was the one who took a long step forwards and then stopped as if he thought he might hit Merope if he kept going. “ _How did you know that, Mother? I never told you!_ ”

Merope glanced at him and said only, “I have ways of finding these things out.” She faced Harry again. “Do you understand the grudge that Dumbledore has against the Slytherin line?’

“How could I? I’m a stranger to this world.”

Merope examined him as if she didn’t think that Harry was telling the truth, then shrugged and continued in Parseltongue. “ _Dumbledore is convinced that our ancestor founded not only Slytherin House but the study of the Dark Arts in the British Isles. He thinks that they were pure and free of that magic until Slytherin came here._ ”

“ _That’s ridiculous_.”

Merope started a little, as if she had thought it a coincidence that Harry had answered in Parseltongue before this. But she kept talking. “ _It is, but that is what he thinks. And he is convinced that every Dark wizard who has ever lived in Britain is a descendant of Slytherin’s legacy, even the ones who don’t share his blood or his House. He’s dedicated himself to the ending of that legacy. He would eliminate Tom if he knew for sure who he really is._ ”

Harry blinked. “ _He doesn’t? I thought the Gaunts being descendants of Slytherin was common knowledge, and Tom certainly carries your last name._ ” He became aware of Morfin and Marvolo limping through the door behind him, but he didn’t bother turning around. He would defeat them again if he had to. Until then, or until they touched Tom or said something to him, he would ignore them.

Merope tilted her head. “ _There are those who sometimes pop up claiming Slytherin’s blood, and Dumbledore thinks our claim is as false as theirs. Even Tom’s gift of Parseltongue is not unknown—and there are spells that can imitate it. Given that most people can’t understand it, how would they know if someone was really speaking it or just using a spell to hiss nonsense_?”

Harry glanced back at Tom. At the moment, he was even more impressed that Tom had managed to get the allegiance of the Slytherins who had once taunted him as a Mudblood. “ _All right. So that explains why this is dangerous, but not why you think that we shouldn’t oppose Dumbledore at all._ ”

“ _I don’t want my son to die._ ” Merope reached down and removed something from a pocket. Harry had time to think that it looked a little like a blackthorn wand before she whipped it abruptly towards him.

And then he ceased to be able to breathe, and suddenly he had more important things to think about than whether it was a wand or not.


	15. Blackthorn

Tom leaped to his feet, but he wasn’t fast enough to prevent the black serpent from wrapping around Harry’s throat. It was a weapon he had seen his mother use before, but not for years, and—

Never against someone he would have objected to losing. Which his mother ought to have known even if she didn’t know anything else.

Harry’s hand rose and grappled with the snake. It was already looped too tight for that to be an effective tactic, though. Tom hissed in alarm, _“Let go!”_ but that cut across and clashed with his mother’s command to tighten.

“ _What the fuck are you doing?_ ” Tom demanded, spinning around to stare at his mother, and trying to ignore the choking sounds from next to him. The blue gem in Harry’s diadem was flaring. It would protect him. It had to. Tom knew going closer and touching the snake himself would only result in it turning into a collar of dead wood, which would strangle Harry even more effectively.

“ _I don’t believe that he’s who he says he is. Someone who wields Parseltongue can challenge us in dangerous ways, and will draw even more attention than you using it by yourself. I don’t permit danger to threaten you, Tom._ ”

“ _Except when it comes from our own family!_ ”

He had the impression his mother would have answered, but at that point, there was a dry snapping sound from behind them. Tom turned with his hand already on his wand. His first thought was that either Marvolo or Morfin had found a way to make themselves a nuisance.

Instead, Harry was holding the dead, cracked body of the serpent in his hand. He had broken it in half, even given the wood it would have become when he touched it. He drew in a sharp, whistling breath, and looked back and forth between Tom and his mother for a moment. Then he threw the halves away.

Tom went to him at once, running his hands tenderly, lightly over Harry’s bruised throat, but regretting it when he winced. “Are you all right?” he breathed.

“I’ll be all right.” Harry hadn’t looked at him, which would have made Tom bristle, except that Harry was sensibly watching the greater threat, Tom’s mother. “Why did you do that, Miss Gaunt?”

Mother flinched, as if the form of address held some kind of hidden poison for her. Tom wouldn’t be surprised if Harry knew something about her from his former world that would do that, but at the moment, he was hardly against it. He wanted to take Harry in his arms and remove him from the house, and he would have, if not for the glowing diadem on Harry’s forehead and the fact that he would have resisted.

“You…” Mother licked her lips. “You are encouraging my son into the open. It is dangerous for the reasons I explained to you. And I have no desire to share Slytherin’s artifacts or the glory that is still be to found in being a Parselmouth with you.”

“The glory to be found in being a Parselmouth. _I_ see.”

Harry looked around the shack as he said it, not directly at Mother, but that only made it all the more insulting. Mother drew herself up and became the strong woman that Tom saw mostly when Morfin and Marvolo weren’t around. “ _You do not understand_ ,” she hissed. “ _The snake that hides in his burrow during the winter and emerges again later is the one who survives. It has been winter for our family for a long, long time, but it will someday be spring again._ ”

“ _Tom is doing his best to bring that springtime._ ” Harry finally turned to face Tom again, his face gentle. “ _Do you want me to explain what you’re doing by facing Dumbledore, or would you rather have that honor_?”

Tom traced his finger in a gentle, tickling line up Harry’s arm. Harry didn’t flinch or back away from him. His expression remained loving.

No one else in Tom’s life had given him that, even if he had known enough love from his mother to be incapable of making a Horcrux.

“ _You explain it, and I’ll jump in when needed,_ ” he hissed.

Harry nodded and faced Mother. He had moved to shield Tom. Tom didn’t have to fear that as he would have in the past few weeks, not now that Harry had control of his magic back, and he didn’t feel insulted. He felt _protected._

“Tom knows that Dumbledore is going to pass laws and try to make Dark magic illegal and keep non-purebloods in their place,” Harry said simply. “I don’t doubt you when you say that Dumbledore is also a threat to someone from Salazar Slytherin’s line, but just hiding in your burrow isn’t going to work this time. Dumbledore wants to _Obliviate_ the knowledge of certain Dark spells from people’s minds.”

“ _What is that to us_?” Mother hissed. Her eyes had come to rest on Harry, as if she had blinded herself to Tom’s existence. That was something that had always hurt when she did it to him as a child, but Tom made himself ignore it for now. “ _So he will threaten others._ ”

“And you don’t care about losing the ability to perform certain spells?”

“ _I am not strong enough to manage the Unforgivables._ ”

That was another sign of her strength, in a way, Tom thought in exasperation. He knew it galled his mother like a Boils Jinx that she couldn’t muster enough magical strength to torture or kill someone with those spells. But she would expose her weakness without hesitation if it meant gaining another kind of advantage.

“You think he would stop there? Because I don’t. You think he wouldn’t pass laws that also made Dark magic other than the Unforgivables illegal? This is the beginning, not the end.”

“ _You may have all sorts of notions stemming from your birth in another world. What I know is that I will not risk_ Tom.”

“I don’t want to risk him, either,” Harry said softly, and reached behind his back to quickly brush his folded knuckles against Tom’s stomach. “But things won’t get better if you just ignore them.”

“ _They will leave us alone as they always have._ ”

“How do you know that, though? Dumbledore might have ignored you so far, but once he figures out that his main goal is accomplished, he can turn his attention to other things. Like, oh, say, searching out the last true descendants of Salazar Slytherin, and figuring out if Tom’s Parseltongue talent is the real thing.”

 _That_ argument made an impression on his mother; Tom could see the uneasy way her eyes flickered back and forth from him to Harry for a moment. Then she straightened her shoulders. “ _So you say._ ”

Harry shrugged back. “I’m not saying for certain. I don’t know that any more than you do. But I think it’s possible. And Tom wants to stand up and fight back now to end Dumbledore’s power before there can be any question of danger. He chose that. I choose to stand at his side.”

Tom felt his fingers curl with the desire to do something more than simply stand next to Harry. But that would wait until they were away from the Gaunts.

Mother continued to glare at Harry as if she assumed he would become Dumbledore any second when the Polyjuice wore off. Then she turned on her heel with a sharp snort and shake of her tangled hair. “Get out.”

“Mother?” Tom asked softly. “I came here in response to your letter. Didn’t you have something that you wanted to say to me?”

“I’ve said everything. And it’s obvious enough what side you’re on.” His mother’s eyes moved to his, restless as the hands that were plucking at her robes and sides. Tom tensed. He knew those signs. “You’ll turn your back on your blood family. Just like a half-blood. Never should have married your father.”

“ _Stop it._ ”

The words hit the room with a sharp pulse of light from the blue gem on Harry’s forehead. Tom froze in surprise. The words were in Parseltongue, not an actual blast of magic, and he shouldn’t have been so caught off-guard by them. But he couldn’t move.

From the way his mother’s eyes widened, neither could she. Marvolo and Morfin had been grumbling something in hisses that Tom hadn’t bothered to pay attention to, but they’d shut up now.

“ _How dare you say something like that to your son._ ”

Harry was moving forwards, his hands curled at his sides. He didn’t hold his wand, but he didn’t need it, not when that gem was sending sharp blasts of blue light out to reflect off the walls, and not when he sounded like the most maddened viper Tom had ever heard.

“ _I thought you were a loving mother in this world, that Tom was evidence of your love. But instead you’re as mad and poisoned by blood prejudice as the Gaunt family in my world._ ”

Tom managed to stir a hand, and reached out and put it on Harry’s back. Harry stopped moving. He was trembling, a little, and when he didn’t stop that, Tom stepped around to the side so that he could see his face.

Harry’s eyes were feral. Tom caught his breath. He had sometimes wanted to see what would happen if Harry lost control, especially in the Potters’ world where he seemed to have a tight grip on his emotions at all times.

At the moment, he knew: it was like being close to a volcano that was going to target him personally.

Except all this anger, this flowing power, had been summoned for _him_. Trying to keep down his swelling pride, Tom reached out and gently closed his hands on Harry’s shoulders. That overwhelming gaze swung to him, but Tom was ready for it.

“Please don’t kill my mother. She’s the only parent I have.”

“I never intended to.” Harry pulled himself back from an internal brink as Tom watched, shaking his head slightly. The gem on his brow dimmed at the same moment. “I simply wanted to know how she could have given birth to you and raised you and loved you and then still say shit like that.”

“ _You know nothing._ ”

“ _I know that you’re afraid of so much that you hide in the shadows and call your son names when he tries to get out of them,_ ” Harry answered shortly. “I don’t really need to know more than that,” he finished in English.

Tom could see the exact moment his mother decided that arguing with Harry was useless. That gave her anger another direction, towards Tom, instead. She turned to face him and stared at him with those depthless black eyes that had sometimes reminded him of a crocodile’s.

“ _Have you considered that you might doom me by bringing me to Dumbledore’s attention?_ ”

“ _You’re not the one he’ll be paying attention to when he fights me, Mother.”_

“ _But you still don’t know when he might decide that digging into your background is productive. He’ll want to do that anyway to convince his followers that you’re the true Heir of Slytherin. He’ll find me. Have you considered that I have no defense, that I’m a Squib without a wand?”_

“ _That snake you threw at me felt like a defense to me,_ ” Harry muttered.

Tom held up a hand, and Harry understood and fell silent. It wasn’t that Tom agreed with his mother’s argument. It was that he needed to handle it on his own since she was talking directly to him.

“Yes, he might dig into my background.” Tom kept to English deliberately, didn’t move deliberately, held his mother’s gaze deliberately. “He could also try to attack me through some of the pure-bloods who follow me and the disapproval of their parents, or he could attempt to find one of those ancient poisons supposedly brewed for Parselmouths. What I’m interested in is taking him down before he has time to do that, Mother.”

“ _He is too powerful for you to fight directly. I do not know why he has not already come after you and dueled you or your—man._ ”

“We have a grace period right now. He will come back, yes, but not right away. And he will be somewhat busy countering the truths I spread about him being the lover of Gellert Grindelwald.”

Morfin laughed from the side, his mouth open and his tongue heavy with foam. “ _So it’s true, then? Dumbledore lived to be fucked just like you do?_ ”

Harry turned with a hiss. Tom clamped his hand on Harry’s arm and stopped him. Nothing irritated his uncle more than being ignored, a tactic Tom was minded to try right now.

“He really did have a relationship with Grindelwald,” Tom said, his gaze locked on his mother. “They planned to take over the wizarding world together and dominate the Muggle one. They believed it would be for the ‘greater good.’”

His mother’s eyelashes flickered downwards once at that. She had heard Dumbledore’s political motto just like everyone else in their world.

“ _He will put that threat down quickly,”_ hissed Marvolo.

" _Will he have the chance, when we are the ones fighting right now and spreading the rumors? And his Order did more harm than good by attacking us in Diagon Alley with members of the public watching them._ "

" _There will be some way for them to pass this off as your fault._ " Mother seemed to have recovered from her minor attack of listening, her hands on her hips and her eyes as direct as Tom had ever seen them. " _You cannot succeed. Dumbledore is too powerful and has too much support in the Wizengamot. Better to hide, to coil and strike at his heel like any viper, than expose your hiding place._ "

Tom shook his head. "I'd already made myself too irritating to him just by existing and trying to introduce myself to him at political functions. Then I fought him in the world that the oracle sent me to. The time of hiding is over. Will you join me?"

Marvolo and Morfin turned their backs with loud scoffs, but Tom ignored them. His eyes were on his mother, who had shown courage and training of a sort by flinging that blackthorn snake at Harry.

Mother, who watched him with clenched hands and hissed in a single loud word Tom thought he could have understood even if he hadn't spoken Parseltongue, " _No_."

Tom blinked once, then inclined his head and replied, " _Very well._ " He took Harry's wrist as he switched back to English. "Let's go, Harry. There's nothing else for us here."

" _Wait a minute, boy. You said that you'd made yourself an irritant to Dumbledore._ " Morfin stepped into his path, his hand clenched as if he thought he could actually punch Tom hard enough through a Shield Charm to hurt. " _How are you planning to protect us when he starts tracing your heritage backwards_?"

Tom smiled a little. "You've made it clear that you don't want to be involved with me. Therefore, I don't want to be involved with you. You can protect yourself however you want. Run away and hide somewhere even I can't find you. I'm done."

*  
_  
_ It wasn't the kind of vengeance Harry would have preferred for their abuse of Tom, but he suspected it was the one that would suit the Gaunts best. If they were that terrified of Dumbledore, then they would want Tom's help in hiding from him--and they were a family of Squibs when it came to wands, for the most part, despite what Merope had done to him. Exposed, they would suffer far more from fear than pain.

" _What? You_ put _us in this danger, boy_!"

"No." Tom continued to use English, and didn't look away from his uncle's face, even though Marvolo was coming up behind him. Harry was the one who looked at Marvolo, making sure his field of vision encompassed Merope at the same time, and shook his head. Marvolo shied back from him. "You did it by hiding away from the world that would have welcomed you at one time. You could have had allies and followers and people who admired you for continuing to have Salazar Slytherin's gift. You can live with the consequences of your choices. I made different ones, and I've been told that I should bear them on my own."

" _You'll fail,_ " Merope said abruptly. " _Did you ever consider that I'm simply trying to keep my only son safe_?"

"No," Tom said.

Merope fell back a step. Harry wondered if Tom had always couched it in gentler language before, doing what he could to soothe her fears.

 _Or maybe,_ Harry thought, as he watched Merope's dark eyes wander over Tom's features, _this is the first time she's listening._

" _I was. I was trying to keep you safe._ "

"You didn't do a very good job of it. Let's go, Harry."

" _You can't leave us here._ "

"Oh, Mother." Tom sounded as if he was smiling, although he kept his head turned away and even Harry couldn't be sure. "You've been leaving me all my life. I've had a lot of examples."

They stepped outside the shack, and Harry kept his wand braced in case an attack came from behind. But nothing was cast at them. The Gaunts needed time to absorb what had happened in the shack, perhaps.

For that matter, Harry thought he might need that, himself. He reached out and gently took Tom's hand, turning it over so he could see it, and moving so that he could see Tom's face at the same time. "Hey. Are you all right?"

Tom glanced at him. His expression was complex, lingering, a painful smile. "In the future. I will be."


	16. Families of Choice

“Are you all right?”

Tom stared in silence down at the cup of tea in his hands. Harry had ordered it from a house-elf the minute they got back to Malfoy Manor and had then stood in front of Tom, obscuring the sight of him from the elf. Tom wondered dimly if Harry was thinking of keeping the elf from reporting to Abraxas how weak Tom looked right now.

But honestly, Tom didn’t feel weak, although he knew he was pale and his hand shook on the teacup he was holding, and Harry knelt beside him holding his arm in concern. He sipped from the tea and considered.

He felt—strong. Strong enough to ask for something he had thought of and speculated about only.

“I’m fine,” he said.

“You don’t _look_ —”

“It’s a bit of a shock,” Tom said dismissively, and put the cup of tea down on the table beside them. “It will pass. I want to know how much you knew of my family in your first world.”

Harry grimaced a little and leaned back on his knees, although he didn’t release his hold on Tom’s arm. “Only what I saw from memories my version of Dumbledore showed me. Your mother fell in love with Tom Riddle and used a love potion on him, then stopped using it when she was pregnant with you—I mean, the Tom Riddle, Jr. of that world. Riddle rejected her, and she had her baby at an orphanage and died soon after. I knew that Marvolo was your grandfather and Morfin your uncle, and the Voldemort of my world framed Morfin for the deaths of his father and Riddle grandparents.”

“What else?”

Harry sighed. “Your family had two artifacts that were important to them, Slytherin’s locket and a ring. Voldemort made them both into Horcruxes and hid the ring in the shack that his family used to live in and the locket in a cave that he associated with torture of the other children in the orphanage. One of his followers went rogue later and stole the locket, replacing it with a fake. I managed to get hold of the locket from a house-elf—”

“A _house_ -elf?”

“Yes. He’d been the elf of the Death Eater who went rogue. The ring, Dumbledore found and destroyed. But it cursed his hand.”

Tom was silent, thinking. Then he asked, “Was my mother a Squib in that world?”

“I don’t know for sure, but I know she didn’t go to Hogwarts. But she was so abused and worn-down by her father and brother that it’s impossible for me to say how her magic manifested. She could brew a love potion.”

Tom nodded slowly. “I’m glad that I didn’t grow up in your world.”

“Even with how horrible your family is in this one?” Harry’s spine was stiff, his eyes blazing as if they still stood in front of the Gaunts. “It’s terrible, what they did to you.”

“They’ve always hidden. I shouldn’t have been surprised that they would be upset when I began to fight for my place.” Tom reached out and placed his hand on Harry’s shoulder, drawing his fingers slowly down from cloth to bare skin. “I don’t want to talk about them anymore.”

“What would make you feel better?”

Tom smiled, as slowly as he had touched Harry. Harry’s voice was soft, his eyes fixed on Tom as if no one else had ever existed in the world. Even if Harry was doing this mainly because he thought Tom wanted to, that was more than tempting enough.

“For you to fuck me.”

*

Harry choked. Tom only raised his eyebrows as if he hadn’t said something astonishing.

“You’ve never done it before?”

“I—it’s not that. I thought you would always prefer to be on top.”

“I think you’re confusing me with the Tom Riddle from your world.”

 _And maybe I am_ , Harry thought, as he took in the way that Tom sat there and looked at him, the depth in his eyes, the way his hands rested on the arms of the chair. That Tom Riddle would never have been this calm about being rejected by his family. He might well have killed them.

That Tom Riddle would have succeeded in making a Horcrux.

Harry smiled at last, and stretched out his hand. “Come with me, then. I think we’ll make it to the bedroom faster if we don’t have to deal with all your Knights asking us where we’re going.”

Tom smiled slightly as he stood up. His eyes never left Harry’s face, even when Harry guided him around corners and past shrouded furniture that would have made most people look down at their feet.

_God, he trusts met. I hope I don’t fuck this up._

Harry closed the door behind them the minute they entered their bedroom, and then Tom was on him, kissing him as if he wanted his teeth to break. Harry fell onto the bed, working at the buttons of Tom’s shirt. He could feel his own breath quickening, his cock stirring.

He would have been lying if he said that he was going to do this all for Tom’s benefit. He wanted to _see,_ to _feel_ , what Tom would look like underneath him, around him.

Tom stripped off his shirt with swift, efficient movements, even though Harry had wanted to be the one to take it off. Then he lounged on the bed, and Harry’s mouth watered as he reached out and curled his fingers through the sparse dark hair on Tom’s chest.

“I trust it meets with your approval?” Tom murmured, half-closing his eyes.

“Merlin, yes. You always do.”

Tom smiled and tilted forwards to kiss him. Somehow, without removing his hands or his eyes from Tom, Harry managed to get out of most of his own clothes, but Tom was the one who removed his own shoes, socks, and trousers. He was reaching for his pants when Harry snapped, “Stop, would you?”

Tom looked at him, his fingers still hooked in the sides of the cloth. “What do you mean?”

“ _I_ want to be the one to undress you. At least as much as you’re still dressed.”

Tom raised one eyebrow as far as it would apparently go, and then leaned back with his legs spread. Harry stared at the outline of his cock against the cloth before he jerked his eyes away. Tom laughed quietly. “Out of everything we’ve been through, that’s what embarrasses you?”

“Sometimes I have odd reactions,” Harry murmured, and leaned forwards so that he could rest his face against the cloth. Tom breathed in harshly. Harry reached up and traced his fingers around the curve of Tom’s cock this time.

“I think I like them,” Tom said, and lounged still further back. Harry gently took his pants off.

*

Yes, it _had_ been a good idea to ask for what he wanted. Harry was panting and bright-eyed, his quickening breath stirring Tom more thoroughly to life than anything had done in ages. He let his legs fall open until they hurt, and Harry gently eased them back together to slip his pants over his ankles.

Then Tom was bare, and Harry took him in his mouth without hesitation.

The sucking wet pleasure was just what Tom needed at the moment. He let images blur and shift in his mind, blending together until they buzzed, nothing else, in the back of his head. And then they whirled away altogether as Harry gave a deep suck.

Tom shuddered and reached down to yank at Harry’s hair, which was rarely satisfactory to yank on, as short as it was. But this time, Harry leaned in to the touch and sucked yet again, a long, drawing pull that brought Tom off in such a short time he barely had a minute to buck his hips.

 _That’s what should be embarrassing,_ Tom thought as he blinked, in a daze, and looked down to see Harry darting his tongue out to collect a drop of whiteness from the side of his mouth.

“I reckon I don’t need to ask if that was good.”

“Could always be better,” Tom replied, but his panting betrayed him, and Harry’s slight frown became a smug smile. He kissed Tom’s ankle and urged his legs wide again, then appeared to change his mind.

“Turn over.”

Tom did it as nonchalantly as he could, although his pulse was already beginning to flutter faster in his throat. Harry seemed to sense how he felt, because his kisses rose up Tom’s feet to his thighs, and his hands were incredibly gentle as he urged Tom’s legs wider again.

“I promise that I won’t do anything you don’t want.”

Tom wanted to say that Harry didn’t _know_ what he wanted, and how could he, when Tom himself only had vague ideas? But he remembered that sensation he’d had watching Harry defend him from his family, and he nodded, listening to his hair rustle on the sheets. “I know.”

Harry kissed the middle of his spine, and slid his fingers down to separate Tom’s cheeks. Tom grunted a little as Harry conjured lube and eased a finger in. Harry started to pause, but Tom was already shaking his head. “Fine. It just feels stranger than I expected.”

“I know. I thought so, too, the first time I felt it.”

Tom arched his neck back to watch as Harry penetrated him, although from this angle, he honestly couldn’t see much more than the nape of Harry’s neck and the point of his chin under his hair. “You need a haircut.”

Harry rolled his eyes at him, face shining, and eased another finger in. Tom gasped and rocked back and forth. He was starting to understand the _kind_ of trust that Harry would have had to have in him to let Tom do this to him, and more than once.

He closed his eyes. Black and violet swirled behind the lids, dancing until he concentrated on nothing but Harry’s fingers parting gently in him, pushing back and forth, and brushing his prostate in a noiseless flash of pleasure.

“All right?”

“Yeah,” Tom said, and dropped his head down as Harry hesitated. “I’m ready.”

“All right,” Harry said again, this time without a question, trusting Tom to know what he was saying. He was lubing up his cock, from the sound, and Tom could already feel himself beginning to twitch and fill again at the thought. He would have liked to watch that, too, but he also knew that this was the easier position for a first time.

Harry slid into him, and Tom hissed. It was thicker than Harry’s fingers, but that wasn’t the major difference. He was a lot warmer, it seemed to _burn_ , and Tom clasped the blanket with tight knuckles.

Harry stopped, then moved forwards when Tom nodded rapidly. There was enough slickness to ease the way, without completely dimming the heat or the feeling. Tom found that he preferred this way—or he acknowledged it to himself when he realized he was thrusting steadily backwards with his hips in search of Harry’s erection.

Harry kissed his back again, and then he was all the way in. Tom grunted in surprise. He would have said, if someone had asked him, that there was more to go.

But there was no one here to ask. There was only him and Harry. And Harry would never tell anyone else what he saw here…

Tom felt the hovering pain and discomfort melt away before the thought of that, and he smiled. Not only would Harry not tell anyone else what he saw here, but he would never be doing this to anyone else. Tom was the only one who would feel Harry inside himself, the way that he was the only person who would be inside Harry.

Tom had once believed he would never snare a person he trusted enough to do this. Then again, he hadn’t believed he could fall in love, either.

He tilted his head back and whispered, “Fuck me harder.”

From the startled snap of Harry’s hips, he was about to do just that.

*

_Merlin, Tom._

Harry wanted to clutch Tom’s hair and bring his head back and kiss him. But he was really too caught up in the heat inside him, and the way Tom was pushing back, and the cascade of his breath, and he was bent over him, and so he did manage to kiss the top of Tom’s head. Tom’s hand found his and clutched it so hard that for a second, Harry thought the bones would break.

_Holy hell._

It was wonderful. It was bliss. Harry returned Tom’s clutch and kept his pace going, shutting his eyes as he drove into Tom, but also trying to brush Tom’s prostate as much as he could. He wanted to return the pleasure. It was only right that he make Tom feel good when Tom was making him feel _this_ good.

Harry’s pleasure mounted, soaring higher as he heard the continued little grunts escaping Tom. Now his hips were out of his control, and he only hoped that those grunts meant he was hitting Tom’s prostate more often than not.

Tom’s skin was getting slick with sweat underneath him. Harry sat back and tried, as best as he could when his cock was going crazy on him, to reach down and slide his hand under Tom’s body and get hold of _his_ cock.

Tom cried out abruptly and squeezed down, and Harry came in a glorious, confusing, slightly guilty rush. He gasped and sagged, but managed to wriggle his hand into what should be the right position to bring Tom off, too.

He found nothing but limp flesh and wetness, and blinked a little as he tried to reach for it again.

Tom laughed into his arms, and then turned and gave Harry a smile that had all kinds of edges Harry would probably have to examine in a Pensieve memory to understand. “I came when you moved like that.”

“What, leaning back? I didn’t mean to—”

“Mmm, I _know_.” Tom reached up and grabbed Harry’s arm with a casual hand, pulling him firmly down, Harry went with the motion, and Tom kissed him, obviously not caring about the painful angle he was forcing Harry to bend his neck at. “And if you can fuck me that well when you don’t have any training, just imagine what you’ll be like with it.”

“Training?” Harry asked suspiciously, swallowing at the slickness covering his lips and the light in Tom’s eyes.

“Well, of course, you aren’t ever going to have the experience of fucking someone else again, so I’ll have to teach you how best to please me,” Tom explained as Harry slowly withdrew from him and reached for his wand to cast the necessary cleaning charms. “I’ll show you how I like it. It ought to be a pleasant experience for both of us.”

Harry rolled his eyes and cast the charms anyway, although he might not have used as much gentleness as he could have on Tom’s arse. Tom jumped, but said nothing. Harry sighed and settled in next to him, one arm draped around his shoulders. “I don’t want to talk about training right now, or anything outside this bedroom,” he murmured.

“Training would qualify as something inside the bedroom.” Tom eyed him. “Unless you have some desires you haven’t told me about…”

Harry groaned and hid his face in Tom’s arm. Tom stroked his hair, and talked about some more nonsensical things that Harry didn’t listen to. He didn’t need to, not when the stroking itself was soothing him to sleep.

And sleep he did.

*

“My lord…”

Tom looked up as the door of the bedroom opened and Abraxas stepped in. He stopped the moment he saw Harry lying curled next to Tom, and bowed his head. Tom waved a negligent hand at him. Abraxas couldn’t have known that Harry was here. “Yes? Do you have a report?”

“An owl arrived for you,” Abraxas murmured, and held out a piece of parchment. “It wasn’t sealed. However, I neither read it nor let anyone else read it.”

“I see.” Tom took it and unfolded it, studying his mother’s handwriting for a moment. It was so curled back on itself and scratched and re-scratched, the way it usually got when she was angry, that he honestly couldn’t read it for a moment.

Then he could.

_Your grandfather has disowned you. You no longer have the right to call yourself Tom Gaunt._

Tom sighed a little and folded the parchment, his gaze straying to where Harry was breathing strong and confident beside him. He debated waking him and asking his opinion on what Tom should do now that he didn’t have a pure-blood name to command attention.

He could practically envision the way Harry would wrinkle his nose, though, and hear his words. _What does the name matter? You’ve always commanded attention because of your charisma and your magic._

Tom could think of another solution, though one that he would have to get Harry’s opinion on when he awoke. He nodded to Abraxas. “The owl doesn’t require a response. You may go.”

Abraxas bowed and left. Tom lounged on the pillow, mind whirling too fast to fall asleep, as it usually was when he tried to nap in the middle of the day. He shifted to feel the pleasant twinge in his arse, and considered his idea.

_Surely Harry wouldn’t mind sharing the name Potter, now that the rest of the family has disappeared from this dimension.  
_


	17. Potters United

“Uh, really? You’d want that?”

Tom raised an interested eyebrow as he buttered his toast. Harry had taken a full minute to recover from the declaration that Tom wanted to take the Potter name, and these were his first words. Tom chewed through a portion of the toast wondering if Harry thought that this wasn’t a good idea for some reason.

“Yes,” Tom said, finally managing to swallow. “Do you have an objection?”

“I never thought that you would,” Harry said softly, and reached out to cover Tom’s hand with his own. “Of course I don’t object. And I think it’s horrible that your family disowned you. I just—didn’t think you would want to take on the name Potter.”

“Will this have a justification?” Tom showed his teeth in a bright smile as he buttered the next piece of toast. By now he could recognize the signs of a self-deprecating snit coming on. “One that will _please_ me?”

Harry took a deep breath. “I know you said once that a lot of people were predisposed to listen to you because you had the last name Gaunt. It’s Sacred Twenty-Eight. Potter isn’t. Do you think that’s going to be a problem?”

 _A more salient political objection than I thought you would raise._ Tom turned his hand and clenched Harry’s fingers with his own, ignoring the way that Harry winced. “It might make some things harder,” he admitted. “But given that I’ve attracted as many pure-blood members from the Sacred Twenty-Eight as I’m probably ever going to attract, and many of my followers are half-blood or even Muggleborn—”

Harry choked. Tom waited patiently for him to get over it, suppressing his annoyance. Yes, he knew he had similarities to the Tom Riddle figure that had made Harry’s childhood a nightmare, but _really_.

“I don’t think that taking another name will make much difference,” Tom finished, with a shrug. “And Potter is going to become a much more famous and respected name than it was in its last centuries.”

“It is?” Harry sounded blank.

“Because you can’t help but shine,” Tom explained as he uncurled his fingers and released his hold on Harry’s hand. “Unless you intend to retreat back into a shell again just as we’ve begun opposing Dumbledore’s Order.”

Harry took a deep breath and finished his tea before he responded. “Of course not,” he said. “But it wouldn’t have occurred to me to promote my last name. I thought—I’d be at your side, you know. Or behind you as necessary.”

Tom leaned forwards. There was the kind of stupidity he had anticipated and was already poised to counter. “So you’re saying that you would have done your best to remain in my shadow, even _after_ we did in the Alley.”

“It’s _your_ struggle,” Harry said, his voice lowering and his eyes flashing once. The light of the diadem on his head didn’t brighten, which was one comfort. “I didn’t want to take the focus away from you.”

“It’s our struggle. After what Dumbledore did to you back in your second world, and what he’ll probably try to do once he comes back here? It’s ours.”

Harry conceded that with a quick nod. “Fine. But that still doesn’t mean that you have to adopt the Potter name. For some of your Knights, that will probably make you seem as if you’re making yourself subservient to me.”

“Anyone foolish enough to believe that can come and talk to me.”

A faint smile lifted the corner of Harry’s mouth before it ever moved. “Fine. It makes me wonder about—” He broke off and frowned down at the teapot, turning it around as if he hadn’t already seen the pattern of fine clouds that was scattered around the fine, rose-colored porcelain.

“I want to hear what you wonder about,” Tom said, and continued in a lower voice when Harry’s eyes darted over to him, maybe wondering about his tone. “No thought that goes through your head is too small for me. I want to know them all. I want to know every beat of your heart and every flutter of your brain.”

“Possessive, Tom,” Harry murmured, but his breathing had quickened. Tom let his smile widen into a smug one. Something he already knew about Harry, that Harry himself might not: Harry could struggle against the bonds of Tom’s possessiveness, but part of him did that to test the bonds and see how firm they were. He _liked_ being known and owned in that way.

_Because no one ever valued him enough before this._

Tom dismissed the thought. That was the past, and it did not seem likely that he would be able to take revenge on the Muggles who had made Harry’s childhood a misery or the wizarding world that had turned him into a weapon any time soon. Harry was here now. He would not want for anything again.

“When I sacrificed part of my magic to open the first gate,” Harry began, “I did it to find a world where Potters and family awaited me.”

“And now you think that it might have meant this world and not the first one you arrived in.” Tom could not contain the burst of intense emotion in his chest. Knowing that _he_ was the one prophesied for Harry, just as Harry had been the one prophesied for him—

Well, he rather regretted that they had no extra time to spend in bed this morning.

Harry just nodded without seeming to pick up on Tom’s mood. “It didn’t mean Jonquil, whatever I thought at first,” he said, and then looked wistful. “Although every other Potter but Calliope in my second world had a better relationship with me.”

Tom took hold of his wrist. Harry relaxed, and smiled at him. “I’m not yearning to go back there, as long as I’ve got you.”

Tom nodded and kissed the center of his palm, making Harry shiver in a delightful way and his regret increase. “Let us make the announcement to the Knights, and then get ready to escort your delightful cousin to the portal.”

*

“Congratulations, my lord.”

It was the first thing that any of the Knights had said since Tom had made his announcement about taking the Potter name, and it was Shara Black who had said it. To Harry’s relief, she rose from the circle of chairs in which they were sitting in the Malfoys’ great hall, and bowed to both of them.

“Yes, my lord, congratulations.” Philip Lestrange echoed what Shara had said, but his eyes rested on Harry in a way that would tell anyone looking who he blamed for Tom’s name change. Harry sighed a little. He had hoped that they would manage to avoid this, but it seemed not.

“Tom Potter.” Abraxas Malfoy frowned a little as though listening to music in his head. “May I suggest that you go with Thomas Potter when introducing yourself to someone else for the first time? It flows better.”

“You may indeed suggest that, Abraxas,” Tom said, with a smile that made Harry have to hold back helpless snickers. Yes, Abraxas _could_ suggest that all he liked; Tom didn’t look as though he would automatically adopt the idea, though.

From the resigned way Malfoy shrugged, he had already understood and accepted the nuance. “Are you going to call on the legends of the Potters when you begin your opposition to Dumbledore, my lord?”

“Legends?” Harry interrupted. Other than what the goblins had told him about the diadem and the fact that the Potters had died out thoroughly in this world four hundred years ago, he had no idea what his family’s reputation was here.

Abraxas started. “My lord hasn’t—discussed this with you, Harry?” He still looked as though he resented having to speak Harry’s first name, as if he would prefer to keep some formal distance between them, but he did it anyway. “I assumed this was one of the major reasons that he had chosen to take the Potter name.”

“I have multiple reasons,” Tom said. “But you know the ancient legends better than I do, Abraxas. You tell them.”

A few of the other Knights of Walpurgis were shifting restlessly in their chairs. Harry didn’t think it was _all_ because Abraxas had chosen some bloody uncomfortable, over-ornamented monstrosities for them to sit in. “Is there some discontent with your choice?” he murmured into Tom’s ear, pointing with his chin.

“Surely any discontent can be voiced by my loyal servants,” Tom said, with a faint smile.

Two or three people poked each other and muttered at each other. Then a thin blonde woman Harry didn’t think had been among the Knights during the first few meetings he had attended stood up. “My lord, there are disturbing rumors spreading about you.”

“Oh? From the confrontation in Diagon Alley?”

“No. I mean—some people are retelling ancient rumors about the Gaunts, my lord. Rumors that I’m sure don’t apply to our lord at all,” the woman rushed to add. She had a firm chin that nonetheless trembled beneath Tom’s gaze. Harry wanted to shake his head. He had never wanted to inspire this level of fear, but he knew Tom reveled in it. “The rumors concerned who the Gaunts—married.”

Tom sighed. “The incest rumors, I assume.”

The woman nodded with her skin turning such a bright red that it made her look as if she had been sunburned. “Yes, my lord. I am sorry to bring it up,” she added in hushed tones.

“I am not inbred as they are,” Tom said, “precisely because I am a half-blood. My father had no magical blood in his veins except for some distant Squib ancestors.” Harry was glad that he managed to keep his face still at that, because he had never heard _that_ about Tom Riddle, Sr. “And now the family has disowned me, so my fate is not theirs. That is precisely why I am so happy to take up the name of Potter.”

The woman blinked and sat back down again. Harry raised his eyebrows. If all their opposition was that easily conquered, he’d be happy to see it. He doubted it, though.

“The legends, Abraxas,” Tom added, looping an arm around Harry’s waist and pulling him close enough to rest his chin on his shoulder.

Abraxas cleared his throat and stared resolutely at the walls, which held some empty portrait frames, as if that was easier than looking at them. “Yes, my lord. Well. The Potters were said to possess some of the last wild magic in the world, running in their veins. And it bred true no matter what kind of spouses they took.”

“Wild magic,” Harry repeated. “Is that like wandless magic?”

Abraxas shook his head, and then took on a more lecturing tone and the ability to look at them once in a while. Harry supposed that he enjoyed the position of knowing more than Harry did. “Wandless magic bends to a wizard’s will, just like any magic that comes through a wand, and even the accidental magic used by children. When it’s wild, then it is the will of the earth, the water, the animals, the plants nearby.”

Harry frowned. “Does that mean that I’m suddenly going to do whatever they want me to do?”

“Probably not,” Abraxas said, and smiled for what looked like the first time in a while. The smile went away again as Tom traced a slow finger around Harry’s eyes beneath the glasses. Harry shot him a glance, and then Abraxas cleared his throat and continued. “The Potters supposedly had a bargain with the wild magic. Sometimes it would aid them, do what they wanted, but they always had to repay it immediately.”

“Do what it wanted.” Harry tilted his head. That sounded more balanced than some of the bargains that he’d read about magical families making. “I suppose I could do that.”

“We don’t even know for certain if you have wild magic in your veins,” Tom reminded him. “You’re not genetically related to the Potters who used to live in this world, after all.”

“Genetically?” Abraxas looked baffled.

“A Muggle concept that Harry and I have discussed,” Tom said. “You’ll learn about it.” He glanced at Harry. “It doesn’t necessarily matter if you don’t have that wild magic, though. Other people will think you do. And they’ll think I do, as well. People who married into the Potter line could be gifted with that kind of power.”

“What makes you think I would share?”

Tom opened his mouth to retort, but Abraxas rushed on to speak. Harry thought that probably the only thing that that would have made him interrupt his lord was not liking the way Harry and Tom were flirting with each other. “There are also legends that Potters could never be defeated on their home ground.”

“Specifically where they lived?” Harry asked. That was another thing that might be a problem, since he didn’t have a home of his own.

“Any ground they claimed as their own.” Abraxas hesitated. “Some of this I read about in my family’s library, since they were usually on the opposite side of a war from the Potters. It was a portable claim. Potters had to perform certain rituals and make a certain vow to declare a piece of earth their own, however. My family tried to duplicate the rituals and the vow, but could never make it succeed.”

“Are the details still in the books in your family’s library?” Tom asked. Abraxas nodded, and Tom echoed him with a brisker nod. “Good. Then we’ll try that out and see if we can make them obey us.”

“You’re jumping ahead a bit,” Harry said to Tom out of the corner of his mouth.

“You’re right. You haven’t officially declared me a Potter yet.”

“ _Tom_ —”

“And we have matters to settle with another Potter.” Tom clapped his hands, and the noise lingered hard in corners of the room that Harry had trouble seeing. “Now. You are going to go out and begin spreading the necessary rumors about the resurrection of the Potter family. See if you can find people who are spreading rumors about seeing us in Diagon Alley the other day. That will make it easier, if we can link those two sets of rumors together.”

“ _Tom_ ,” Harry hissed at him as the Knights started to disperse.

“I’m thinking that we’ll escort Jonquil to the portal first,” Tom informed him softly. “Then we can get on to the official declaration of making me a Potter.”

“We don’t know if those rituals will work! We don’t know if I have wild magic!”

“No, but rumors are nearly as good as reality.” Tom kissed the corner of his mouth. “And I am rather looking forward to being accepted into a powerful pure-blood family. I never was before this, you know.”

_Damn him for still having the power to steal my breath._

*

Jonquil Potter stood outside the portal, looking at it with dead eyes.

Tom watched her without sympathy. He had never been able to muster up much for her in any case, but she had made the vow that said she would never seek to come back through the portal or resist Harry when he took her there, and in a few minutes, how much sympathy he had for her would not be an issue.

“I wish things were different,” Jonquil whispered. It was still him and not Harry she turned to, the cousin who had risked everything for her. “I wish you loved me.”

“How could I love a hysterical little girl?” Tom asked, and watched in satisfaction as she turned her face away.

“Tom, you don’t need to be cruel.”

“Yes, I do,” Tom said. “She believes me, but she still wishes things could be different. Didn’t you hear her? She still wishes I was a pawn in her little games of ambition and romance.”

Jonquil abruptly clenched her fists in front of her and spat, “I hope that I _never_ become like you!”

Tom let his left eyebrow rise. That was a new one.

“You’re selfish and murderous and cruel,” Jonquil went on recklessly, stepping away from Harry’s hand when he reached for her. Once again, she didn’t even look at the man who would have comforted her if he could. “Harry’s right. You don’t _need_ to be cruel to me, but you still are. I never want to be that kind of person.”

“Then don’t,” Tom said, with a shrug. “It matters very little to me what kind of person you become once you’re on the other side of this fucking portal.”

Jonquil said, “ _I hate you_ ,” with the kind of passionate conviction that religions were founded on. Tom smiled at her brightly and opened his mouth to tell her what she could do with her hatred, but she turned and marched through the portal before he could say anything, kicking aside chunks of rubble as if they weren’t there.

The portal flared brightly for a second, and Tom felt Harry tense. He carefully kept himself from reacting. He would not be like Jonquil, hanging all his hopes on one person and trying to keep that person from doing anything he didn’t like.

But he did wish that Harry didn’t ever desire to visit the world of Godric’s Hollow or his first world again, that he would be content to remain at Tom’s side.

“Come,” Tom murmured when he was sure that Jonquil wouldn’t come back, extending a hand to Harry. “You know that we shouldn’t linger here.”

Harry let Tom wrap his arm around him and Side-Along Apparate him. Tom rested his cheek heavily on Harry’s chest when they landed back in the courtyard outside Malfoy Manor and listened to the heartbeat singing beneath his ear.

“We still haven’t officially made me a Potter yet,” Tom said, after a moment.

Harry started and then laughed. “Of course we have to do that,” he said, and guided Tom towards the house. His heartbeat stayed steady.

 _This,_ Tom reflected, _is something else I could learn to love._


End file.
